


Best Mistake

by my_achilles_heel



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female Protagonist, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I swear this isn't going to be as depressing as it sounds, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Independence, Major Original Character(s), Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strength, Strong Female Characters, Tissue Warning, Triggers, independent woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_achilles_heel/pseuds/my_achilles_heel
Summary: Nothing is black and white in this new world order. Everyone has blood on their hands. All she knew was how to survive. But maybe she could learn how to truly live again.





	1. I'm a Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Here's something I've had planned out since August, ya'll! :) I hope you like it. I do plan on filling in the time gap with flashbacks throughout each chapter as the fic goes on. 
> 
> My portrayal of Negan is based off what I know about him from what I've heard from the comics and from JDM's portrayal of him on the show. This is my personal portrayal of Negan.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic descriptions of rape and violence**

_I’ve been living with devils and angels._

_Fuck. How could we be so fucking stupid? How the hell are we going to get out of this one?_

The doors of the barn rattle and shake, and all I can hear are the moans of the dead outside these fragile wooden walls that are barely keeping up. And I hear the whimpers from some of my friends who are with me, trapped in this barn.

I don’t know how long it’s been that we’ve been out on the road, making it through each state, just trying to scavenge enough supplies to make it by until we find somewhere good enough— _safe enough_ —to call home.

I turn to my three companions—Taylor, Paige, and Lee. We haven’t all been together since the beginning. We’ve lost so many along the way, but we’re together now— _we’re together now._

Lee clutches onto his axe, shooting me a worried look, while Paige and Taylor are more concerned about the doors that are being pressed up against, ready to break at any moment. All four of us are huddled together, and all I can hear is the sound of our heavy breathing, the rattling of the wood, and the aggressive moans of the dead.

I finally look at them all and break the dark silence that looms over us. “If this is it—“

“Don’t fucking say that, Calla. We’ve been through so much worse together,” Lee glances at me with determined eyes.

I swallow. I don’t know—I don’t know. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, gathering myself together. I can feel all of their eyes on me. I grip the knife in my hand, and clutch onto my gun that hangs off the side of my belt.

And then I open my eyes.

I see all of them staring back at me, and then all three nod. Telling me to fight till the end—that we’re in this together, even if none of us make it out alive.

And that’s all I need to get me past this moment and to continue. I nod my head, and all three of us separate.

Paige and Taylor have their backs pressed against the wood, feeling the relentless thumping of the hoard of walkers outside trying to break in.

And I take the center. I decide to take the full force of the flood of walkers we’re about to let in. So I hold my knife up steadily while my hand grips onto my gun as tight as possible. I swear, I can barely feel my heart racing right now.

I look at Lee and Taylor who are gripping onto the doors, ready to open them at my command.

I suck in a breath and hold it in, about to give them the order—about to let the damn flood in.

But then suddenly gunshots are heard outside—a rapid fire of them along with some cackling.

I look at all three of my friends with wide eyes, freezing in this moment, not knowing what to do.

Because we’ve learned—oh, we’ve _damn well learned_ that when someone saves your ass in this new world, it’s never a good thing.

That’s when I hurriedly glance around, spotting hay bails and piles of hay in the back of the barn. I motion over to it, and all of us rush over to it was quietly as possible to hide. I find that I don’t have enough time to make it into the hay since I hear their footsteps growing closer, and because the doors are beginning to open. But Lee and Paige were able to make it into the hay, while Taylor is behind another hay bail with me.

Light spills into the barn, and I squint my eyes. I see five men walk in, two deciding to stand guard by the barn doors, while the other three turn their heads and look around the barn.

“Walkers probably heard an animal or some shit in here,” one of them says.

“Hey! Now what did I say about being patient?” I hear another guy snap, who stands in the middle of the three, and I presume that he’s their leader.

I breathe as quietly as possible, my eyes carefully watching all of them as they slink around the barn, investigating.

“Why don’t we check the hay, hmm? Seems like a good hiding spot to me,” The same guy chuckles. I see him reach for the pitchfork that’s leaning against one of the barn walls, holding it steady. He raises it up in the air, readying himself to stab it down into the way.

I don’t think.

I don’t have a chance to think.

My instinct kicks in—the same instinct I’ve had since this entire mess started—the same instinct I’ve had for every person I’ve met since the outbreak.

And that instinct is the will to sacrifice myself for anyone—even some one I barely just met.

I jump out from behind the hay barrel, standing up, with my hands up in the air. “Don’t! We won’t hurt you, I promise!”

The man holding the pitchfork freezes up, and the other three men lift their guns up, pointing them at me. My eyes meet the man who I certainly know is their leader—the same man I originally thought to be. He has a messy mop of blonde, long hair that stops at his shoulders, with a matching blonde goatee. I watch his lips twitch into a smile at the sight of me—into a wicked smile, as he raises one of his hands up in the air.

“Lower your guns,” he tells his men, and they obey.

“Now tell your little _friends_ to come out and stop playin’ hide n’ seek,” he adds.

I swallow—I hesitate, keeping my hands raised in the air still. I don’t have much time to think in this moment. It’s life or death. What happens if I hesitate for too long, even if I ultimately say yes? What happens if I say no and tell him to fuck off and attack the hell out of him? I know they’re waiting for _my_ command—Paige, Taylor, and Lee wouldn’t dare to come out unless I gave the word. And what happens if I decide not to, and just remain silent? _Death—death is what it means._

_And we’re not too far gone to fall to our knees and beg for that fate. Not yet, at least._

I bite down on my bottom lip before parting my lips, giving the command—what I know will be my last one, at that. “Come on out, ya’ll,” I glance over at their leader, eyes narrowing just slightly, “There’s no use in fighting.”

The pile of hay rustles as Paige and Lee come out of the hay, brushing it off their clothes and skin. Taylor emerges from behind the hay bail that was beside mine. All of them look over at me and sigh. I tilt my chin up, and they all raise their hands up before looking to the leader.

He smiles deviously at all of us, leaning back, clearly relishing in the sight of having all of us at his will. He licks his lips as his eyes glance up and down, and it takes my all not to cringe. “My, my, _my_ …do ya’ll look in _bad shape_ ,” he remarks. “Well, ain’t it a damn good thing we came along just in time?” He chuckles, licking his lips yet again. “How long ya’ll been out here scavenging for?”

I know I have to answer—that they’re all depending on me. I can feel all of their eyes on me.

“A month or so,” I say, “I lost track.”

His smile falls and he presses his lips together. “Where ya’ll on the run from?”

I blink my eyes.

And then he laughs. “Oh, I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Why else would you be scavenging _this_ late into the game?”

“A place called Mountain View. It’s not in Virginia.”

He twists his lips in thought. “I certainly haven’t heard of it.” He pauses now for a moment before continuing. “Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. What’s your name, sweetheart? You the leader?”

“Calla,” I answer. I turn my head, looking over at my friends—at Paige, Taylor, and Lee. I see them nod their head, and I swallow. I turn my head back to look at him. “Yeah, looks like I am.”

He smiles at me. “Well, my name is Cris, and ya’ll better thank your lucky stars that we saved your asses, and that we’ll be taking you back to my place. All in exchange for all of you working and contributing to the community, of course.”

 _Cris._ My stomach churns as he speaks—because I know how this world works now. _We all do_.

“And where might that be?” I daringly ask.

“Six miles west of here. A little place we call The Haven,” Cris smiles.

And now that smile is suddenly gone, and I find myself filled with fear for the first time since this all began…

“ _BOYS!_ Grab em’ by their fucking arms, tie em’ up, and throw em’ in the back! Gotta make sure they don’t end up _running away_ like the last ones did.” Cris shouts, gritting his teeth. He turns around and walks out of the open barn doors.

_Oh, fuck. Oh fuck…_

The men divide and conquer, each grabbing one of us. As one comes behind me and roughly pulls my hands back and throws me to the ground so I’m on my knees, I groan and turn my head to look at my friends.

And I see it all in their eyes—I see that they’re stricken with fear, as they look to me for support— _as the look to the ruthless leader I’m supposed to be. But I’m not anymore—not anymore._

I feel a foot press against my back, kicking me down so I’m lying on my stomach, and I yelp in pain. I cry out as he ties my wrists together, and I hear my friends’ groans as well.

Then the world goes black as one of the men tie a bandana around my eyes. I feel the man that was behind me grab me by the back of my shirt, tugging me up so I’m standing, and pushes me forward. I blindly walk to…I don’t know where. _I don’t know._

_I don’t know at all._

_Playing with the hand that we were dealt in this game._

_Maybe I’m the sinner, and not a saint._

* * *

 

 **Eight months later**  
_11 P.M.  
_ _The Haven—Cris’s Room_

_The rise of a king, and the fall of a queen._

I feel too weary to fight back anymore.

Cris grips the back of my neck, nails digging into my skin, as he shoves me onto his bed so I’m lying on my stomach. I groan as my body meets his firm mattress, and feel his strong hand gripping the back of my throat once more. The same spot it always goes to—the same spot he holds onto as a reminder of _just what he can do_ if I decide to fight back like I use to. _Like I use to_.

_Worn down, and beaten down—that’s all I am now. **That’s all I’ll ever be, I’ve accepted.**_

I grind my teeth together as Cris crawls on top of me, his mouth coming to my ear. I feel his hard on press against my bare ass, feeling his naked skin burning against my own. “You fuckin’ KNOW what to do, Calla,” he growls.

_I’d rather just quit than continue to race._

I don’t close my eyes. Not anymore. I’ve learned to stare blankly ahead at the wooden headboard—I’ve memorized every detail of it so far. The dark, swirly lines that contrast against the light brown shade of the wood—I can make it out even now, in his dark bedroom. I try and make out the grain of the wood, as I’ve been able to at times when the lights would be on.

_There’s no turning back time._

I blink my eyes. I blink just once as I feel him enter me, ramming so painfully into my core, and he lets out a loud groan. I remain silent, watching the headboard shake—feeling the mattress move below my body as he continually pushes in and out of me with great force.

_No matter how much I may wish I could go back to when we were barely making it by._

He doesn’t know it—he doesn’t know that tears swell up in my eyes, threatening to leak out. He doesn’t know that some times they do, because by the time his seed leaks into me, or he comes somewhere on my body, I’ve long stopped crying. But this time, I let the tears come out, sliding down my cheeks and hitting the cotton, white sheets beneath me.

_Because I do. I’d prefer falling asleep each night to the painful growling of my stomach than…than have **this** any longer._

I reach out, my fingers curling tightly around the sheets, and I close my eyes. I squeeze my eyes as tight as possible as I feel him slide in and out of me—as he howls from me behind in pleasure.

_Don’t cry for me._

_“AAAAHHH!”_

My eyes snap open as I hear blood-curdling _screams_ coming from outside Cris’s room—out in the halls of the compound. Just as I do, I feel him slide out of me, standing up as he curses under his breath.

“YOU FUCKIN’ STAY HERE, GOT IT?!” he shouts at me from where I lay on the bed. “If you—“

Cris stops, freezing in place as we hear a gunshot from directly on the other side of the door.

I’m lying as still as I can on the bed, my eyes flickering to the door as it is kicked wide open, the bright fluorescent lights from the hallway spilling into the room, making me squint my eyes. All I can see standing in the door way is the figure of a tall, lean man.

As he steps forward, I can finally make him out because the moonlight from the window of Cris’s room spills over his body. I see the glistening of some silver and white hair surrounding his lips—see his lips pulled completely down into a frown, eyes staring Cris’s naked body down.

“Who the _fuck—“_

The man gives one twirl of his baseball bat, and I see something metallic wrapped around it shine as the moonlight hits it. He stops, gripping his weapon firmly, before suddenly he’s taking three long strides towards Cris. His hand wraps around Cris’s throat before he has a chance to leap back, and he presses Cris against the wall. “That’s _MY_ fucking line, you mother fucking _FUCKER!”_ His fingers tighten around his throat, and I can hear Cris’s body thrashing against the wall as he tries to claw off this stranger’s hand.

And then he turns to me.

“Sweetheart, tell me if I’m wrong, but did I just walk in on what I think I just fuckin’ did?” he asks, voice suddenly much softer than before.

I scramble up the bed, curling my naked body up, arms wrapping around my knees as I pull them into my chest. I stare at him with wide eyes as he looks back at me, lips pressed firmly together.

“I need to fucking hear a _yes_ or _no_. Did you want this fucker’s dick or no?” His hand tightens around Cris’s throat.

I don’t even think twice—I don’t even hesitate. Not like how I did, just for that split second, when Cris and his men barged into the barn oh so long ago. Because right now my stomach is churning, and my gut is _screaming_ at me.

“N-No,” I manage to say, pressing back against the pillows that rest along the headboard. I can’t rip my gaze away at the sight of him pinning Cris down like that.

The man flashes me a small smile, winking at me. “Thank you, honey,” he says softly. And then his head snaps away as he turns to look at Cris, letting go of his neck, only to throw his naked body onto the floor with great force.

“I _DON’T_ fucking _appreciate_ men who _RAPE_ women!” he yells at the top of his lungs, voice deep and firm, as he takes a couple of steps forward. Cris is lying on his back, squirming up against the end of the bed, holding his hands up in the air.

“I-I-I’m sorry! D-Don’t p-please!” he begs. _And fuck, does he beg._

The man is gritting his teeth together as he raises his bat in the air with both arms. But he pauses, turning his head up to look at me. His lips come together and eyes widen for a moment. “Sweetheart, you can look away—you can close your eyes. Or hell, if you want to see this mother _fucking fucker_ pay for what he’s fucking put your through, you can watch. But I’m warning you, it’s about to be _some fucking bloody ass shit_.”

My breath hitches in my throat—I don’t know. I know what he’s going to do—I know _exactly_ what this man is going to do to Cris. But I don’t know if I want to watch.

His lips pull back down into a thrown as he looks down at Cris again. I can tell, even in this dim lighting, that his nostrils are twitching in anger—his hands gripping the end of the bat are shaking.

“ _I swear!”_ Cris yells, “I-I’ll never do it again! _Please!_ Just show me mercy!”

His bat swings all the way down, and I flinch. But he doesn’t make contact with Cris. Instead, he points his bat directly at Cris, just mere inches away from touching the tip of his nose. His upper lip curls as he snarls at Cris. “What the _fuck_ makes you think it’s fucking okay to _rape women?!_ You mother _fucking fucker!_ We are trying to establish a goddamn new world order, and yet here you _fucking are_ , fucking it all up! I _DO NOT and WILL NOT_ show _ANY_ mercy to a fucking _RAPIST,_ you mother fucker!”

My entire body trembles as I stare at him like this—at this man screaming so loud at the top of his lungs that his entire body is shaking, too.

He doesn’t get to respond—Cris doesn’t even have a chance to get one last word in.

He lifts his baseball bat once more completely above his head. And as the moonlight mixed with the bright hallway lights spills into the room and on him I finally notice what’s wrapped around his bat— _barbed wire_.

That’s when I know, as he brings the bat down with so much force, that Cris is meeting his end—his inevitable fate of death.

I can’t see his bat meeting Cris’s skull, but I can see the blood from the first hit spray out. I feel the hot liquid hit my bare legs, arms, and face. I watch with wide eyes, frozen in place, as he raises his bat once more and hits Cris again, another spray of blood hitting my skin and everything else around us.

I hurriedly scramble off the bed and into the back corner of the room, curling up as tight as possible—wrapping my arms as tight as possible around my legs as my entire body trembles.

And I watch over, and over, _and over again_ , as his bat continually bashes into what’s left of Cris’s skull and brain. I glaze over, and my mind goes black, as I shake and barely manage to breathe—I don’t even realize I’ve been watching anymore until five minutes later, when I feel cool leather against my burning hot flesh.

I don’t realize that I’ve been mentally vacant for the past five minutes of this man beating Cris to a bloody pulp before my eyes until that man’s leather-covered hand squeezes my right forearm. My wide eyes blink as I look up at him. He’s towering above me, eyes firmly watching, as he bends down a bit. He blocks most of the hallway light that leaks in through the open doorway, so I can only make out some of his features—his eyes that are looking at me with a bit of worry, his lips that are pressed together and surrounded by a thick beard.

I shutter under his grasp, desperately trying to crawl back away from him, only finding my back pressing further against the wall as my legs scramble and I press my arms against the wall. And then I hear the screaming of Cris’s men throughout the halls of the compound once more, my eyes flickering away from this man and over to the doorway.

“Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” he says, crouching down in front of me. I look back to him as I clench my jaw, and find that he now looks…not disappointed. No. _Sad._

“I didn’t mean to scare you like that, honey. But someone had to do it…” he says, sighing. “I really— _truly_ —did _not_ mean to frighten you.”

He takes off his glove and stuffs it in the pocket of his leather jacket. He reaches out that hand towards me, fingers spread apart. I notice that he isn’t gripping his weapon, and somehow realizing that allows me to let out a breath.

“I’m Negan. What’s your name?”

My lips part, and I slowly reach out and place my hand on his. I feel his long fingers curl around mine, and somehow in this moment I find the warmth of his skin and his tight grip on me comforting.

“Calla.”

_There’s no pot of gold in the rainbows we chase. But we hold on—we hold on._


	2. Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is--chapter two! :) A full 16 single-spaced pages.

_You know the problem with history is that it keeps coming back like weeds._

“Calla.”

He says my name softly, eyes looking back into mine. My breath hitches in my throat—the sounds of all of the screaming from the compound’s corridors are drowned out in this moment, as I look back at him with my wide eyes—as I feel his thumb rub small circles into my hand soothingly.

“Like the flower?” he asks, raising a brow. I nod my head, and he chuckles.

And then I hear the screaming from outside flooding my senses as I’m pulled out of this shared moment and back into the reality of the situation at hand. I swallow, turning my head towards the door. I see two men running past the doorway, screaming at the top of their lungs, as multiple men follow them from behind.

Then I see blood spray out, making me flinch, followed by another cry of pain.

“I’m sorry.”

I rapidly blink my eyes and jolt, looking over to him—to this man that just saved me named Negan. I realize as I do that I had just been shaking yet again.

“N-No…don’t be,” I say. “You saved me.” But I can’t help but glance back to the doorway again, looking over Negan’s shoulder as I see more men running down the halls—as I hear more screaming.

I can’t help but wonder when it will end.

He clears his throat, drawing my attention. “I know that isn’t fucking helping any, Calla. But you’re going to have to get up so we can get some clothes on you and take you from here.”

_“…and take you from here.”_

I shake my head repeatedly as I snap my hand away from his, pulling it to my chest. “N-No! _NO!”_ I yell now, trying to back away from him yet again—trying to desperately back away from him once more, even though I’m trapped in this corner. “I-I know what happens when you do! _I know_!”

I feel like my heart is about to burst from my chest—it’s pounding so loud—it’s thumping so much against my ribcage that I can’t hear the screaming any more.

“Calla— _Listen_ to me,” he says.

What little of his face I could see blurs, blending together with the light spilling in from the doorway and window. I feel my hot tears leak out of my eyes, rushing down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. I clench my jaw, shaking my head.

“I am _nothing_ like him. My people are _nothing_ like,” Negan trails off, his voice growing soft, “like these _fuckers_ you’ve been having to deal with, alright?”

_Cris is dead. He’s dead. He’s gone._

_Gone._

“What do I do?” I ask, and I don’t know why. _I don’t know—I have no idea._ “What do I do, Negan?”

The last bit I choke out in a sob, my body shaking once again. I shut my eyes tight, wrapping my arms around my body, as I remain curled up against the walls of this tiny room.

“Let me take care of you. That’s what you do, Calla.”

I open my eyes. And despite how blurry everything is from my tears, I can see how hard his gaze is.

“If not for you, then for _me_ , Calla.”

He says it so firmly. He says my name with so much strength.

_Is that what it’s like to be strong? Is that what I use to be like?_

That’s all it takes—somehow, _that’s all it takes._

I nod my head, biting down on my lip.

“ _Please,”_ I whisper.

This time I softly close my eyes as I feel his strong arms envelop around me as he drops to the ground on his knees, pulling me into his chest. He presses my cheek against his chest as one hand buries itself in my wild, curly hair, and his arm slides around my waist. I feel him squeezing me in as tight as possible—as he rests his chin on top of my head. His rapid heartbeat fills my ears, and I let out a shaky breath as I concentrate on that—on the blood which pumps through the canals of his heart, and through his veins, filling his body with so much warmth.

“I’m sorry.”

I hear him say it once more, and I don’t know why.

“I’m so sorry, Calla.”

And then I realize why—because he knows— _he knows that wasn’t the only time._

“Don’t be. Please, don’t be,” I whisper. I wonder if he can hear me despite all those painful screams echoing down the halls.

I feel his cheek press against my forehead as he clutches onto me. And then I feel the slowing of my heart—the rise and fall of his chest against mine. I’m not sure how long it’s been, but I hear the world go quiet. _Quiet, at last—how long has it been since it has?_

He lifts his head off mine. His hand leaves my hair. He slips an arm behind my knees and another behind my back, lifting me up, curling me against his body.

“It’s over now—it’s all over now. I promise.”

I look up at Negan, blinking my eyes. And as he carries me out of Cris’s room, he briefly stops to grab his bat with one hand, and then walks into the hallway. The fluorescent lights illuminate my entire world, and I find that his hazel eyes are looking into mine, assuring me of his word.

“Where’d you sleep at?”

I tear my gaze away from him, pointing my finger down the right end of the hallway. “Turn left, then take the second right, and the first left. Room 227,” I say. I lower my hand back down, and as I do so I see what’s on the floor—all that’s on the walls.

_Blood—blood spilled everywhere, staining the dingy floor, and the white walls._

I see nothing but Cris’s men, dead, as Negan steps over their bodies carefully.

Now I know why all the screaming ended.

“We had to do it,” Negan says, breaking the eerie silence. He must have known why I was being so quiet as he moved—must have known I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it all.

“We don’t fucking tolerate rapists—like fucking hell do we let rapists fucking live.”

I look up to find that he’s looking forward, concentrating on getting to my room through the halls. “How did you know?”

He sighs aloud, tilting his head down to look at me briefly. “My men heard about this place— _The Haven_ —when they ran into another group. We heard there’s a fucking _ass load_ of guns here, so we started keeping an eye on the place for the past month. Only to learn…”

Negan stops walking, and he’s staring down at me. He doesn’t have to say it—he knows he doesn’t.

“…So we started to plan the best time to raid the place, and kill all these fuckers and save all of you from...” he frowns down at me before shaking his head. “ _The Haven_ —now who the _mother fucking fuck_ calls a fucking place that treats women like _SHIT_ that kind of fucking name,” Negan spits out in disdain, eyes looking away from me the entire time.

And then he glances back down at me—his hazel eyes stare into the depths of mine in silence. I see, if only for a moment, his gaze softening. I wonder how I’m looking at him for that to happen…

Negan lifts his head up, clearing his throat. He lifts a leg up, powerfully kicking the door to my room open. The dark, brown wooden door slams against the wall, bouncing off just a bit. He steps inside, using his elbow to hit the light switch that’s next to the doorway. As the ceiling lights barley manage to flicker on, his head turns as he looks at my incredibly tiny room. All that’s there is a twin bed, a nightstand beside it with a lamp, a small dresser, and a small bathroom connected. He walks over to my bed and sits down on it, having me curl up in his lap. My legs slide over his dangling off to the, and his arm wraps around my waist. He brings his hand to my face, cupping my right cheek.

“You think you can get up, and get dressed on your own, sweetheart?” he asks in a soft, very low voice.

My breath hitches in my throat as I look back at him—as I feel his hot breath hit my skin.

“Yeah,” I say. And I don’t wait for his response, immediately standing up. Despite the fact that he’s seen me completely naked this entire time, I can’t help but wrap my arms around my body to cover myself up. My face grows hot as I walk to my dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out panties and a bra. I open the second drawer and pull out dark denim skinny jeans, a gray v-neck, and my pink, plaid button-down.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” I say, my back turned towards him. It only takes a couple of strides till I’m in the bathroom, hurriedly shutting the door behind me. I flip the light switch.

And that’s when I see her— _her._ She looks exactly like me—caramel skin, freckles all over her round cheeks, chocolate brown wide eyes staring back at me. Her dark hair filled with tight curls, bits of light brown and honey mixed in the bottom of it, is a mess that stops at her shoulders. Her collarbones are protruding, some freckles on her skin around there—the bones in her shoulders poke out. Her belly is flat, but I can see a few bones of her ribcage through her skin.

_She’s me—she’s me, and I’m her. We’re the same. How did I become this reflection in the mirror staring back at me, though? How long did it take?_

And there’s red—oh, dots and lines of red on her chin, cheeks, and forehead—on her chest, thighs, and arms. _On **my** chin, cheeks and, forehead—on **my** chest, thighs, and arms._

_And the red is his blood—Cris’s blood._

“I don’t mean to rush ya, sweetheart, but we really need to get going soon,” Negan says from the other side of the door, and I blink my eyes. _How long had I been staring into the mirror like this?_

“Sorry,” I immediately reply, turning away from the mirror to the bathtub.

“Don’t be. The last thing you need to do tonight is apologize, Calla.”

_The last thing you need to do tonight is apologize._

I turn the knob, cold water beginning to flow. I put some on my face, and more where the spots of blood are on my body. I take the bar of soap and rub my skin as fast as I can, watching as the red smears, mixing in with the white soap and water. I put the soap back on the edge of the tub before splashing more water on me, washing the blood off my skin. I clean myself down there, too, while I’m at it—all over my inner thighs, my lips, and clit. I turn the knob back down and the water stops, and I grab the nearest towel to dry all of myself off.

I fold the towel over the towel bar, even though I know I won’t ever be coming back to this place. I walk over to where the clothes I grabbed rests on top of the toilet.

I start by to putting on my panties and then my pants. I wiggle into my jeans, buttoning and zipping them up. I slip on my nude bra, and then my gray v-neck shirt. Finally I put on my pink and plaid button-up shirt, rolling up the sleeves, leaving it open.

And then I turn to the mirror one last time.

My doe eyes are staring back at me—I notice how innocent I look, what with those wide eyes, round cheeks, and freckles. _I look far too innocent for what’s happened._

I notice how… _clean_ I look, even though I feel dirty.

I lick my lips and turn to the door, turning off the lights as I open it.

He’s sitting on my bed, head dipped down, legs spread apart. He lifts it, blinking his eyes, brows completely lifted making his forehead wrinkle. His hands are clasped together in his lap. He’s wearing a red scarf that’s tucked into his zipped-up black, leather jacket, brown pants, and black boots.

I immediately walk to my dresser, pulling out a pair of socks. I put them on and turn to where my only two pairs of shoes are lined up next to it. I squat down and grab both of them, then stand up and walk to my bed. Negan scoots over to make room for me, turning his head as I sit down beside him. I swallow, feeling nervous under his gaze, because I can feel his eyes watching as I slip on one shoe at a time and tie my laces tight.

“You’re a double-knotter?” he asks, raising a brow.

I turn my head after tying the last double knot. “Yeah—force of habit,” I shrug.

Negan narrows his eyes a bit in thought at me before glancing away. I stand up, taking the other pair of shoes in my hand—my dear, black boots I’ve relied on ever since the world turned to hell. I walk back to my dresser and take my black, leather jacket out. As I bend down to put my boots on the floor briefly, I feel his rough hand slip over one of mine. I shutter under his touch, standing back up and turning my head. I find that he’s behind me, and I have to turn my head completely up because of how tall he is.

“Let me,” he says softly, motioning to my boots by simply lifting his chin a bit. I’m caught off guard by how incredibly hard and rough this man can be, yet so gentle and soft at the same time. I nod my head, and I feel his hand leave mine as he takes my boots from me. I turn away, my back still facing him, as I slip on my leather jacket. I fluff out my hair as I turn to now face him, reaching my hands out.

“I can take it from here,” I say simply, lips pressed together. My eyes look up into his.

He swallows, and I feel him watching me carefully. I wonder what he’s thinking—how he’s judging my demeanor.

“You want to take these with you?” he asks, lifting them up slightly.

“I do, very much so,” I reply. “Is that alright—with you?”

His eyes glance down at them before looking back at into mine. “I can get you a better pair, sweetheart—these are too old and dirty for you to keep wearing any longer.”

“No!” I reply, placing my hands on them and trying to pull my boots away from him instinctively. I blink my eyes, realizing what I’m doing just after…just after what _he’s_ done _for_ me. I pull my hands back to my body, crossing my arms, as I glance away from him. “Sorry.”

Negan chuckles, shaking his head. “You need to stop apologizing so much. These must be _really_ important for you to respond like this,” he says, and I feel the tops of my booth against my forearm as he pushes them towards me. I glance down and uncross my arms, taking them from him, pulling them tight into my chest.

“It’s a long story.”

That’s all I say—all I want to say. I lift my head up and look at him once more. I keep my gaze firm on his bright hazel eyes, willing myself not to look away

“Anything else you want to take?” Negan lifts a brow.

I shake my head. I didn’t have really anything when I was brought here anyway—I have the only two items that mean anything to me in this world with me right now, these boots and the leather jacket I’m wearing.

He presses his lips together, and I see the light in his eyes dim. I swear for a split second I don’t see pity, but sadness.

“Well get ready, sweetheart, because I’m taking you to a far better fucking place than this piece of shit place could have ever been,” Negan grins wildly as he turns away from me, heading towards the door.

And I follow right behind him—just like a lost little puppy.

Until we step out into the hallway, and I stop in the middle of it, staring down it as Negan continues to walk ahead.

I see this tall, lean man look straight ahead as he steps over every body without any issue. His bat is hanging down at his side, the leftover of Cris’s blood still dripping off the end of it, a patch of his pale flesh caught in the barbed wire. I hear nothing but the sound of his heavy footsteps. And as my eyes lower, I look at each body one at a time—look at the knife stab wounds in all of their heads—all of the gunshots that blew the pink bits of meat scattered all throughout the floor and all the walls—all of their heads completely smashed on the floor. Blood smeared everywhere—bloody footsteps all over the white, tile floor—red handprints on the white, dingy walls, some smeared and others impossibly detailed—blood splattered just… _everywhere._ _So many bodies—so much blood._

_I tried to cover up, but now I think my time is up._

* * *

 

 **_ Eight months earlier  
_ ** _The Haven_

Light—just a small bit of sunlight manages to seep in through the blindfold over my eyes. I feel my body shaking as I sit on the floor of what I presume to be a van. One of my friends’ bodies is pressed against mine, their knee and thigh against my own, as we sit in complete silence.

Time passes. I don’t know how much.

Until the shaking stops, followed by the opening of doors.

And then my entire world goes from black to light once more.

With the blindfold now off, I blink my eyes as they grow adjusted to this quick difference, squinting as I look through the open white, van doors—as I look to this place that I know I’ll be forced to call my new home. I turn my head, seeing Lee beside me, the blindfold being taken off him as one of Cris’s men moves on to Taylor and Paige. Lee blinks his brown eyes rapidly, squinting as he looks over to me. I turn my head away, looking back through the van doors once more.

I see nothing but a large building before us—as to how large it is, I’m not sure. But it’s completely dark brown, with two large doors in the front. Dark, tainted, black windows are all along the walls, so no one can see inside.

“Get out!” The man growls as he lifts me up by my arm roughly, pushing me out of the van. I groan as I stumble, my legs feeling wobbly, unable to catch myself as I fall on my knees onto the grass.

I hear him grab all three of my friends, and they stumble forward and manage to stop beside me—all except Paige, who falls on her stomach right next to me. I turn my head to look down at her—her dirty blonde, straight hair is pulled back into a ponytail, jaw clenched, blue eyes trained ahead.

I know better than to talk, because this isn’t my first time in a situation like this.

But I can’t help but wish I could say something to her—I can’t help but wish I could will myself to try and help her or whisper something. _I can’t help but wish I was strong enough to._

Low chuckling fills the atmosphere as I hear a car door shut. Seconds later, Cris walks in front of us. He smiles, looking down at all of us.

“Well I’ll be _damned_ —already kneeling for _me_ , sweetheart?” Cris chuckles, taking a step forward, bending down a bit as he grabs me by the chin to jerk my head up. I press my lips together in a firm line, narrowing my eyes on his. His green eyes stare into mine as he licks his lips—just for a moment—before letting go of me and stepping back. I level my head in return, and keep my eyes glued to him.

_Don’t look away—don’t you fucking dare look away._

“Welcome to The Haven, ya’ll!” he spread his arms wide apart in the air, smiling at us. They drop down, his hands slapping against his cargo pants, face falling flat. “Now, we decided in the car ride here what each of your jobs will be—to receive, you gotta _give_.”

I say nothing—we all don’t say a single word.

Cris takes a few steps forward, starting at the left end of the line we’re in—starting with Lee. I turn my head to look down the line, watching Lee’s profile—watching the way he defiantly looks up at Cris into his eyes, not daring to look away.

“ _You_ —what did you do before the world turned to _shit_?”

 _Line cook_ , I answer in my head. I still remember when Lee told me—just two months ago, back at Mountain View when we were sitting in my tiny room, talking about how we longed to escape—about how we some times miss what the world use to be like.

“Line cook.”

Cris laughs, “You hear that, Matt?” he asks, motioning towards one of his men—the exact one who threw us all out of the van—the one who kicked me down at the barn. “What a coincidence, considering we decided he’d work in the kitchen!” I hear Matt laugh from behind us.

He takes a few steps to the right, moving onto Taylor, who is right beside me.

“And _you_ , little miss?”

Her brown hair is pushed back, cascading down to the middle of her back in loose waves. Unlike Lee, she refuses to let her gray eyes meet his. Taylor tilts her head completely down, staring down at the green grass beneath us.

 _Nurse_ , I think to myself. I remember the first time I met Taylor—six months ago, when I came into the infirmary at Mountain View, bleeding profusely from the wound in my back through my right shoulder. She laughed when I asked not to be numbed. I ended up screaming and crying as she yanked out the bullet with her bare hands, my blood getting under her nails, dripping down her wrist over her olive skin.

“Singer.”

I keep still—keep my face emotionless as she lies to Cris so he doesn’t know that she is. I know why she lied, and can understand even.

“Talk about fucking _useless_. You must have been broke,” he laughs. “Looks like it was a good thing we decided to throw you in the kitchen earlier.”

He takes two steps to the right.

His crotch is in my line of sight, and I look up and into his eyes.

“You know the drill.”

I don’t hesitate in answering—there’s no need for me to lie, unlike for Taylor.

“Laywer.”

He lifts his brows curiously. “What kind?”

“JAG. For the Navy.”

“So you’re telling me that not only were you a lawyer, but you were one for the _military_? _Goddamn_ , did we get lucky!” Cris bursts out in laughter. “Considering I’ve taken on the burden of restoring law and order to this shitshow of a world, you’re _exactly_ what I need! Carrie—“

“It’s _Calla_ ,” I interrupt.

“Carrie—Calla— _whatever_ ,” he shrugs, “Looks like you’ll be my assistant,” Cris winks.

I don’t look away as I stare back at him in silence.

Two steps to the right. He’s reached the end of the line.

Paige, who is still lying on her stomach, tilts her head up, blue eyes acknowledging Cris.

“Aw,” he says, squatting down, “You need some help there, darlin’?” Cris pouts his lips.

“Fuck no,” she growls.

He twists his lips, groaning as he stands back up. “Just answer the fucking question then.”

 _Can’t even think of a comeback—some leader_ , I think.

“Teacher,” Paige answers, eyes on his.

Cris smiles, looking down at Paige, and he remains silent as he waits to see if she’ll finally avert her gaze.

But she doesn’t.

“Well, we don’t have fucking children here—they’re a goddamn _waste_ of resources. So you’ll just work laundry,” he shrugs.

Cris takes a couple steps back now and throws his arms out. “Now, what do we say again?!”

None of us reply.

He chuckles lowly, shaking his head. “Here, I’ll give you a hint to help out—to _receive_ …”

I sigh aloud, recalling his words from earlier.

_To receive, you gotta give._

“—you gotta _give_ ,” we all repeat for him at once.

“Much better!” Cris says giddly. “Now say it _completely_ this time!”

I don’t want to look down the line—I don’t want to look down at all their faces. Because I’m afraid of what I’ll see in this moment.

So instead, I look at Cris.

“To receive, you gotta give.”

* * *

 

“ _Calla…”_

I snap my head up at the sound of my name echoing down the hallway. He’s standing on the other end, faced towards me. The corners of his lips are slightly tugging down, eyes locked on me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, just loud enough for him to hear.

I take a step forward, turning my head down, looking at the body lying face down on the floor. I swallow, lengthening my stride enough to step over this person. Only to find two more in my way, amongst the many scattered upon this corridor. And I stand still, my chest starting to quickly rise and fall, shaky breaths leaving my parted lips faster and faster each time. I try to swallow, but my chest and throat are so damn tight.

“I-I-I can’t…I can’t…I can’t,” I repeat, staring down at the floor—at the blood I’m surrounded by. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I continue to repeat. And I don’t know why. _I don’t know why. I don’t know. I don’t know._ I clutch onto my chest, my eyes widening, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

I didn’t hear him as he hurriedly stepped over all the bodies, racing down the hallway to me. I didn’t hear him as he rest his bat against one of the walls, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest. I didn’t hear him at all until he put one large hand behind my head, gripping my hair, and the other on the small of my back.

“ _Shh_ , _shhh_ ,” he whispers soothingly in my ear, lips brushing over my skin. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Calla.”

I feel my boots slip out of my hand, falling to the floor. I don’t even care if they hit one of the bodies—if they’re now covered in blood. I clutch onto Negan’s jacket, squeezing my eyes as I press my forehead against his chest.

“Just listen to my breathing,” he whispers. “Just listen to how I breathe. _Shhhh, shhh._ ”

And I do—I do exactly that. I listen to the calm, beating of his heart—listen to him inhale deeply—to his slow, long breaths that slip off his lips.

My heart slows. My shaky, short breaths slowly become longer—calmer. The rise and fall of my chest slows, too. My lips close, and I manage to breathe calmly through my nose. I loosen my grip on his jacket, and I stop squeezing my eyes so tight. I feel my tight muscles relax completely in his arms.

I listen as he takes deep breaths in through his nose, only to feel his hot breath hit me as he breaths out.

I wonder what he thinks of me, in this moment. I wonder if he really thinks that I’m so weak. And I wonder, and wonder, and wonder, until my mind becomes blank, and I melt into him.

He then pulls away slowly, looking down at me, and I open my eyes.

“You need me to carry you?” Negan asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’m strong, Negan.”

_I’m strong._

_Then why do I sound so weak when I say it aloud?_

I step to the side and pick up my boots, holding them with one arm. Then I step over the body in front of me. I take few more steps before stepping over the next body—and the next. I turn my head as I feel a hand clutch onto my own from behind, feeling the rough and calloused skin against mine. I see Negan, holding onto my hand, as he trails behind me, eyes watching me carefully. And I turn my head to look forward once more as we hold onto one another—as I lead the way through these corridors filled with bodies. I pull us steadily towards the entrance of the military complex that is The Haven, walking down the stairs once we reach the end of the second floor. I navigate us through the first floor, and once we’re about to get to the doors, I see Negan walk straight past me, still holding onto my hand. I blink my eyes, caught off guard as he takes the lead.

But as he pushes open the front doors, and I’m met with the bright shining lights that his men have turned on, all of their cars and trucks lined up, what seems like a hundred of his men gathered around waiting for him, I realize why he did this.

_He needs to seem strong, not weak. He’s their leader._

_He’s their leader._

“Well, _hot diggity dog_! Everyone did a _fan-fucking-tastic_ job tonight! Give yourselves a round of applause!” Negan says loudly with a laugh, and what follows is indeed applause by every man we’re surrounded by. My eyes glance around, searching frantically— _looking for them_.

He lets go of my hand now, joining in the applause. As it dies down, he goes back to talking. “Simon! Did we get some good fucking shit tonight or what?” Negan calls out.

_And I keep searching—I keep looking over every face and every body crowded around us, looking._

“Not only did we get a _shit ton_ of guns, but we got enough food to fucking last us three months!”

Negan laughs again, grinning wildly. “Now _THAT’S_ what I like to fucking hear! Let’s finish loading up the trucks, boys, and fucking leave this fucking shitty ass place!”

_Paige, Lee—where are you? Where are you?_

He turns his head down to me, smile falling, as his men resume with loading up the trucks. My eyes flicker about as they scatter and separate, moving about, and I look for them in the spots I couldn’t previously see.

“Calla,” he says, “What are you looking for?”

I turn my head up at the sound of my name, finding his hardened gaze on me. “My friends that I came here with…”

And he sighs aloud—not a regular kind of sigh, but one that carries great weight.

I know why. _Oh god, do I know why._

“I…” he trails off, licking his lips as he searches for the words, “Calla…my men—“

I furrow my brows. “No…no they didn’t…”

_Oh, do I know._

“You saw the amount of bodies in there…My men killed those who fought back…” he says in a low voice.

I shake my head. “Paige—Lee—they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t have fought back. They fucking hated Cris as much as I—“

I cut myself off, seeing the look in his eyes change—seeing how his hazel eyes soften up so much as he looks down at me, with my mouth agape, my doe eyes staring back at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Calla…”

How many times have I heard him say that tonight? _How many?_ Does he really—truly—feel that bad for me tonight?

I stare up at him in disbelief, shaking my head. I shake my head until I can’t anymore—until my eyes glance away from his and to the ground.

“I’m sorry—“

I snap my head up, narrowing my eyes on him. I feel my upper lip curl up. “ _Don’t_ be,” I snarl. “You don’t even _know_ me. So _don’t fucking be_.”

I watch as he opens his mouth—as his soft gaze turns into a fiery one.

_“CALLA!”_

I turn my head in the direction my name came from. I glance around frantically, looking for the source of it.

_“CALLA!”_

I freeze, watching two pairs of arms waving frantically for me near the front gate. My eyes widen as I see them—see _their_ smiling faces.

I don’t turn back to look at him. I don’t as I take off in a sprint, dropping my boots right beside Negan in the process, running to them as fast as I can. And they catch me in their arms, trembling as I wrap my arms around them in a group hug. I hear their sobs, and I feel tears leave my eyes suddenly.

“Oh my god— _oh my god_!” I say, shaking myself, as we huddle together. “I thought— _I thought_ —“

“Calla,” Lee says, squeezing me, “ _We_ thought you…”

I swallow, my chest and throat growing tight.

_I know what he thought—what they thought—and why._

“I got lucky,” I choke out, smiling. “I’m just…I’m just so happy!” I pull Paige and Lee in closer to me. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to lose you two, or hell even just one of you, like we lost—“

_Like when we lost Taylor, just five months ago, after we arrived here…_

“I know,” Paige says, smiling despite the fact that she’s crying as well. “But we’re okay— _we’re okay_.”

I laugh through my tears, and they do too. I laugh as I hug them as tight as possible, as I forget exactly what we’re surrounded by.

Until his voice pulls me away from this cherished moment.

He clears his throat while standing right behind me. “I know you’re in the middle of a grand fucking reunion, doll, but we gotta go.”

I pull my head up, turning around so I’m facing Negan, while I have on arm on Paige and the other on Lee. He’s holding my boots in his hands, eyes on us as he waits.

“Are Paige and Lee—“

Negan chuckles, cutting me off, “What do you think? We saved them, the same as we did you.”

I smile at him, my eyes still watery. “Thank you,” I say, and I turn my head to look at Lee who is smiling, and then Paige who seems completely giddy.

“But you’re riding back with me,” Negan instructs. “And don’t worry—Simon will take care of them.”

My arms slip off Lee and Paige. I step forward so I’m standing beside Negan, turning around to look at them. “I’ll see you in the morning then, yeah?” I smile.

They both nod their heads, and as they do I turn to look at Negan. Only to find that he’s already walking off…

I chase after him like a little girl running after her parent that she’s strayed too far behind from in a crowded supermarket. I walk as quickly as I can, while he’s walking slow with long strides, until I catch up to his side.

“Took ya long enough,” he remarks without turning to look down at me.

I don’t say anything, choosing to be quiet.

We walk like this till we arrive at a black pick up truck. Negan opens the passenger door for me. “Sit down, and fuckin’ buckle up, sweetheart—I’m taking us home,” Negan grins cockily. I step up and into the car, sitting down, and he puts my boots in my lap. He shuts the door, and as he walks to the driver side I place the boots on the floor in front of me and put on my seatbelt. Negan slides into the drivers seat with ease, shutting the door. He turns on the engine and puts on his own seatbelt and turns on his headlights. I watch as he turns them off then on really fast again, and some of his men begin to open the gate. He steps on the gas and drives out of here, and down the road.

“What’s your place called again?” I ask, turning my head to look at him as he drives. I study his profile, noticing how much he’s concentrating on driving through the dark.

“The Sanctuary. My men and I are called The Saviors,” he replies, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Thank you,” I reply.

I turn my head away and look straight through the windshield for a minute, biting down on my lip in thought. And then I turn to look back at him once more.

“I’m sorry.”

His head turns towards me, and he furrows his brow.

“For earlier—for—“

“Like I told you, Calla, you need to stop apologizing so fucking much.” Negan turns to look back at the road, and I watch as his lips pull into a small, close-mouthed smile.

I let my mind go blank as he navigates “home.”

* * *

 

 **_ Seven months earlier  
_ ** _The Haven_

_You’ve been down before._

_His assistant—that’s what I was “supposed” to be. I was supposed to be there for legal consultation so he could “rebuild society.”_

One month—we’ve already been here for one month. And within that one month…

_You’ve been hurt before._

…we’ve found out things aren’t exactly what they appear to be.

_You got up before._

I sigh, leaving Cris’s office and walking down the halls of the military base to where the grand laundry room is. I have his round, white, plastic laundry basket under one arm that’s propped up against my hip. My black boots click against the tile as my long legs stretch out, power walking.

Because oh, I don’t want to even _know_ what punishment he’d have in store for me if I’m not back in time for the next completely and utterly useless task he has waiting for me next.

My thick curls are pulled back in a ponytail that bounces with every step I take. With my available hand, I keep having to pull up at the top of my jeans because they keep slipping. I’m not exactly sure how much weight I’ve lost since arriving a month ago, but I definitely use to fill these out _completely_ even while scavenging out there.

But I knew I would lose weight, considering how tiny the rations are here.

Considering how little of sleep I get—I’ll get six hours, if I’m lucky, but usually it’s four.

More often that not, I can’t sleep at night because I’ll wake up to the sound of a woman screaming down the corridors, only for that screaming to disappear. It’s always a different scream, too, from a different woman, each time. It startles me—makes me jolt up in my bed. I’ll turn and look over to where my roommate is supposed to be in her bed—her name is Cara. But Cara is always knocked out cold, and I have to try and lull myself back to sleep after hearing it.

I make a sharp, right turn down the next hallway now.

And then, Cris has me working twelve hour shifts, for God knows why. Most of what I do day in and day out for him is retrieve his food, and he allows himself unlimited access to the rations, water; pick up his laundry; clean his room, bathroom, and office; and once in a blue moon actually consult him with “legislation” that he’s “drafting for the new world order.” Or, so he says…

I walk past five doors, and then I turn into the laundry room. My eyes flicker about, searching for her tiny, blonde ponytail. I come here nearly every day to grab his laundry for him, at the same exact time. And since Paige works here…why not get it from her?

My eyes widen as I spot her folding the latest clothes that came out of the dryer—it seems like she’s onto whites now. Her long fingers work carefully, eyes concentrating on her work. As I walk over to her, I recognize what she’s folding—a pair of Cris’s boxers. No wonder why she’s being so careful…considering how _particular_ he is with everything being completely perfect.

“Paige,” I whisper from behind, tapping her on the shoulder. She shudders under my light touch, head quickly turning around.

“Jesus, Calla! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Paige laughs, clutching onto her chest.

I can see two of her bones poking out on her chest—she’s lost much weight since we arrived here a month ago, too. Her already slim body somehow managed to become thinner, but boney thin. Unhealthy thin, like the rest of us. The bags under her eyes are so deep and dark, telling me she hasn’t been getting much sleep recently either.

“Sorry,” I smile. “I didn’t mean to—I just…I’m just happy to see you. For what little time we have.”

Whenever I grab Cris’s laundry everyday from her, at the same exact time, I always take exactly ten minutes. And during those ten minutes I spend gathering up his laundry and helping her fold whatever is remaining, so we both don’t get our asses in trouble by him, we catch up—we catch up on all the rumors circulating about Cris, and especially everything I’ve heard since I work directly for him.

I clear my throat, setting the laundry basket on top of the dryer now. I grab a sock and start to fish through the pile of white clothes, looking for the one that matches it.

“So, what’s the latest?” I barely glance over to her before looking back to the clothes.

“You know those screams you’ve been hearing a few times a week since we got here?” Paige asks. “The ones in the middle of the night—that wake us _both_ up,” she clarifies.

I nod my head. I distinctly remember telling her two weeks ago about it and asked if she’s heard them, as well. It brought me comfort to know that I wasn’t going fucking insane here from my sleep deprivation and barely getting enough food to eat at each meal.

“I heard…” Paige pauses, setting the folded pair of boxers in my laundry basket. She turns to face me, lips pressed together, face serious. Her bags are darker than I’ve ever seen them before.

“I heard Cris… _rapes_ women, at night. A new one each time, unless he takes a particular liking to one. He’ll—in the hallway, when he knows they’re leaving from their shift—he’ll…”

She’s trying to take a deep breath, and I rest my hand on her shoulder, squeezing to give her comfort. Paige glances into my eyes and I nod my head.

“Chase them down, get his little guards to help him out. He’ll either take them to his office or bedroom—sometimes the communal bathroom if it’s closer.”

Paige shakes her head. “Poor Tracy…she told me all about it two nights ago when it finally happened to her…” Paige’s eyes flicker over to one of the other women who works doing laundry with her. I glance over to Tracy, too, taking in her form—she’s unhealthily thin, like all of us from my group are slowly becoming. Her brown, straight hair is tied back into a tight bun, and her hands tremble as she folds the pile of clothes she’s working on. Whenever I’d come to pick up Cris’s laundry, Tracy would always greet me with such a warm smile and ask how I’m doing.

It’s no wonder why, for the past two days, she’s stopped.

“I also heard about something he did the month before we came.” I glance back to Paige.

“You’re not going to believe it, Calla…You just…” Paige shakes her head.

I furrow my brow as I turn my head away, going back to folding the pile of clothes. Paige joins in, and we continue to work, as she tells me this next rumor.

“You know Dana?” She asks, and I nod my head. “She had a husband before we arrived. His name was John. I guess Dana was pregnant and, well, you know how Cris is about kids.”

I nod again. “Yeah, he forces Dr. Wilson in giving women abortions—and in dangerous methods, mind that—because Cris doesn’t allow it.”

“Right. I’ve heard a lot of women here have died because of that…but that’s aside the point,” Paige licks her lips. “Dana decided to hide her pregnancy and gave birth last month in her room. Her and John were keeping it a secret…”

“But…?”

We all know where this goes, but as to how bad it is…oh god, I don’t want to know.

“Cris found out one night,” Paige swallows. “He was walking down the hallway right past their room when he heard the baby wailing…”

My eyes widen as I look at the white t-shirt I’m folding in my hands.

“He knocked down the door. He saw John and Dana trying to feed it, or something like that. Apparently Cris started screaming and yelling—flipped their table over, crushed the little furniture they had. He dragged John out, holding his gun to his head, with Dana holding the baby and following behind. Cris made everyone in The Haven gather and—and—“

I blink my eyes. “What did he do…? Paige, _what did he do_?!”

She turns her head and looks at me with those wide, oh so wide blue eyes filled with complete fear and horror. My lips part in anticipation.

“He used a wrench he just so happened to have on hand and bashed John’s skull in, in front of everyone on stage in the dining hall, making sure his guards were armed with guns so everyone had to watch and couldn’t bolt.”

My own eyes begin to widen.  
“And just when everyone thought he was done, after beating him so hard with the wrench that his brains were mush, he—“

 _Oh, fuck._ My mouth opens, as my eyes get as wide as possible in realization.

“He…grabbed his gun, and shot the baby while it was in Dana’s arms. Straight into it’s head. All of the blood and its brains got all over Dana…”

“…and everyone had to watch…”

Paige nods at my response. “Yeah…”

She then turns her head, looking to the clock in the laundry room.

“Shit, Calla! You have to get back soon, otherwise…”

I nod my head. “I know, I know,” I say as I quickly gather up all of Cris’s clean, folded clothes, placing it in the basket. I take the basket in my arms and kiss Paige on the cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

She nods her head, flashing me a small smile. “Stay safe.” I watch as her smile fades now, eyes filled with worry. “Please…just stay safe, Calla.”

I nod. “I will. And you do, too. Make sure Lee and Taylor are okay for me, alright?”

Paige nods, and I turn around, walking out as fast as possible to go to Cris’s office so he knows I have his clothes before going to his bedroom to put them away for him. Just like I do every single day at noon. _Every single day at noon._ And I walk back as if nothing happened—as if I never heard any of it.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not screaming in my mind, because I’m starting to feel afraid of him now.

* * *

 

_11 P.M.  
_ _The Sanctuary_

I walk behind Negan down one of the hallways of this place—this place he calls “The Sanctuary.” My eyes keep flickering about, trying to memorize where each turn takes you. I feel like a lost puppy, considering how large this building looked even when we pulled up in the dark.

We eventually stop, and I see the number on the door as Negan unlocks it for me. _347._

He opens it, waiting for me to walk in first. As I do, he flips the light switch on for me. I see a small, twin size bed in the corner, a nightstand beside that, a large chest with a few drawers, a table with three chairs surrounding it, and a bathroom connected to it.

I turn to look at Negan, who is shutting the door behind me. He turns to face me, raising his brows as he extends a hand out. “Well, how do you like it?”

I nod my head, keeping my lips pressed together. “I like it—a lot. It’s better than what I had back at The Haven.”

He simply nods his head, bringing his hand back down and putting it in the pocket of his pants. “That’s what I like to fucking hear, doll.”

Negan takes a step forward, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t we take a seat? I need to lay some groundwork out for you, and tell you how things work around here.”

I nod my head, and as I walk to where the table is, I feel Negan following me, his hand still squeezing my shoulder. His hand slips off my body as I slide into a chair, and he sits across from me.

“Here at The Sanctuary, we like to make sure everyone is fucking well fed—how the fuck can we expect you to fucking work, if you’re not fucking eating, right?”

I nod my head.

“So we feed everyone breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The cafeteria is on the first floor. Breakfast is from 7 AM to 10 AM, lunch from 12 PM to 2 PM, and dinner is from 5 PM to 7 PM. Sound fucking good?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. We have curfew—gotta be in your room by nine, unless you’re working the night shift.”

I nod again.

“Now, I have a very important question to ask you, Calla,” I watch as Negan places his hands on the table, extending them out towards me. He opens them, eyes meeting mine. I place my hands in his, and he squeezes them.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I usually only give people like you two options, but I’m giving you three. And I don’t give out the third option that often.”

I lift a brow, wondering what they are. But at least I have a choice— _I never had a choice back there._

_You know the problem with history is that it keeps growing back like weeds._

“Option one: we can give you enough supplies so you can leave and survive a few days on your own, till you find somewhere else to go.”

I bite down on my lower lip—I can’t even imagine, being out there _again_ , but this time after…after…

“Option two: you work—you fucking contribute like everyone else—and earn points in return. We have a store where you can exchange your points for items there. When we go out on trips, usually what we bring back ends up there. It’s a fucking fair system.”

I nod my head.

“The third option…” I see his eyes finally leave mine, looking down at our hands. Negan licks his lips in thought before continuing on.

“You can be my wife. It doesn’t work exactly how it fucking sounds, though, sweetheart. I have five others—you would get treated like the fucking princess you fucking _deserve_ to be—have anything you mother fucking like, whenever you fucking like, and the best of it. You don't have to work at all."

I lick my lips now—I’m pretty sure I know what being one of his wives entails.

“But,” Negan continues, looking into my eyes now. “You don’t have to have sex with me right away. Not after what’s happened to you. You can take however fucking long you want, honey, and I’ll wait however fucking long you want until you’re damn sure you’re ready. I only like pussy that’s _willing_. And I want you to know—if you decide to say no, by no means will I hold that above you and your friends’ heads, alright?”

I swallow, glancing away from him, trying to collect my thoughts on all of this.

I’m not sure how much time passes as we sit like this, in complete silence, holding one another’s hands, until I feel his large hands squeeze mine again and cut off the silence.

“So, what’s it going to be? Or do you wanna sleep on it?”

_He’s growing from inside me, and I just don’t know what to do. I thought I cut him at the root like weeds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wanted to say that since I've now posted this, and I have law school finals for the next two weeks, I probably won't be starting to write chapter 3 till the second week of December. But I assure you, the wait will be worth it! 
> 
> As well, I'm not sure if any of you have picked up on this or not, but putting song lyrics in fanfics is kind of my thing, and has been for the past two years. If you're ever curious as to what song the lyrics are from, or would like me to put in the notes which songs I used in the fic, just let me know! :)


	3. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to post this update! I've kind of been spending most of winter break so far catching up on sleep. That, and there's been some family issues going on in my personal life :/
> 
> For now, I hope this chapter makes up for how long it's taken for me to write and post this! Considering this chapter is incredibly long. 
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy the 26 single-spaced pages, 15,663 words, that is this chapter! ;)

_“So what’s it going to be? Or do you want to sleep on it?”_

My eyes flicker back up, and I meet his hardened gaze as he waits for my response.

“I want to work for points.”

He licks his lips, eyes flickering down at our joined hands for a brief moment before looking back up at me. “You sure you don’t want to sleep on that, honey? Are you _sure_ that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes.”

Negan nods his head in understanding. “Is there anything particular you want to do? We have fucking everything possible you can do.”

How many times have I been in this position before—in this position of joining a new group, with it’s own system and all? _Too many_. I know how it works all too well—all the jobs that large groups, such as his own, have available. But this is the first time I’ve _ever_ had a choice, except for when we left Mountain View…

*********************************************************************************

**_ One Year Ago  
_ ** _Mountain View (Summerfield, North Carolina)—Dining Room_

Mountain View is a neighborhood, filled with what use to be model homes and homes of families who just moved into their new houses before the breakout. For the most part, everyone has a house they share with those they consider to be family, but because of how small our community still is we still have the luxury of being able to live in a house on your own, so since arriving here I’ve been living in one of the one-story houses on my own. One of the large one-story houses was converted to be used as a main dining area and kitchen for everyone in the community.

After getting my food from the kitchen in the back of what use to be a house, I walk into the next room and over to a table. I slide into my seat with ease, holding the yellow tray with a few of dishes of food on it in my hands. My eyes remain up as I swing my legs forward and set my tray down on the small, four-chair, wooden table, seeing Taylor sitting directly across from me on the other end. Lee sets to my left, while Paige is on my right. All of them already have their trays of food in front of them and had been waiting for me to join.

I grab my glass of water from the tray and bring it to my lips, taking a generous sip, then set it back down. The only noise than can be heard is the conversation mixed with laughter between all of those who live here at Mountain View and are having dinner—there being about thirty-five of us—while at our table there’s nothing but silence.

Because they’re waiting for me to begin—because they have no idea who each other are and have never met—because _I_ was the one who arranged this two days ago.

“So, I want to introduce you all to one another, considering I’ve noticed we all have the same thing in common,” I begin, and all of their eyes meet mine.

I gesture to my left with one hand, “This is Lee.”

He raises his hand and keeps lips pressed together as he gives it a light wave, and settles it back down in his lap with his other hand.

I gesture to my right with my hand, “Paige.”

She flashes a smile and gives us a thumbs up, blue eyes flickering around to look at everyone.

And now I extend my hand out to the front of me, “And, finally, Taylor.”

Her gray eyes glance to Lee, then Paige, and finally me, giving a simple nod of her head.

“And we all just want to get the hell out of this place,” I add.

I observe as they all look to each other, some eyes wide while others have their eyebrows raised.

“Really?” Paige peeps. “I…I thought we were the only ones,” she says, looking at me now. “Considering how… _nice_ Mountain View is.”

Taylor shakes her head. “It really is nice; unbelievably nice. But that’s the thing—it’s _too_ nice. Because that’s how Jeff and the Board can get away with imposing super strict curfew hours on us, amongst other restrictions.”

“The Board” is made of five men, each who arrived at Mountain View some time throughout the last three years. Jeff proposes any rules, actions, etc. which he thinks are necessary for Mountain View to the Board to vote on for approval. And pretty much everything that he has proposed has always gone through.

Paige furrows her brow and licks her lips in thought. Meanwhile Lee chimes into the conversation.

“They feed us plenty of food, let alone good quality food considering it’s the apocalypse.” We all chuckle at that comment. “Medical care is great, work hours are just like they were before everything happened. But you’re right, Taylor. Having to be in our rooms by 6 PM, and can’t leave them till 6 AM at the earliest?” Lee rolls his dark brown, nearly black eyes in annoyance.

“On top of not being able to leave the gates— _ever_ ,” I add. “We barely have any scavengers, and _they_ even have strict limitations on when they can get out.”

Paige, who has been looking down at her food with her dirty blonde brows furrowed causing a crease in between her eyebrows, her lips pursed, and with her eyes narrowed, finally lifts her head up. “And can only be outside our houses in the actual sunlight during certain hours of the day.”

I nod my head in agreement—in agreement with not only Paige’s comment, but also everyone else’s.

“How nice would it be—to leave, start our own sanctuary in the midst of all the hell,” Taylor sighs afterwards.

Lee twists his lips in thought and is looking down at his food. “But we’d have to scavenge and be on the run for a while—you know…” he swallows, trailing off. He raises his hands now and grabs the bread roll on his tray, tearing it in half, bringing part of it to his mouth to eat it.

“That Jeff and the Board would most likely vote in favor of sending people out to hunt us down, bring us back, and punish us? Yeah, I know,” I finish for Lee. I lick my lips and reach for my fork, and I stab at a few pieces of iceberg lettuce and spinach from my small salad.

Paige, who is in the midst of chewing on her mac n’ cheese, speaks up again. “Because they’re afraid that another group would capture us and find out where Mountain View is,” she says, with her hand in front of her mouth as she chews a bit still.

“ _Exactly_ ,” I reply. “But…don’t you just think that,” I bite my lip in thought for a few seconds before resuming, “It’d be so… _worth_ it? We’d call the shots, make things fair—have it be an actual _democracy_ and not the fucking _oligarchy_ that this place is. We can let in people who actually need our help, and not force them to stay against their will like the Board always votes on doing each time—not _kill_ people on sight who approach the gates like the guards here are instructed to do sometimes.”

“Yes!” Taylor says excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. “An _actual_ democracy—and not some fucking thing slapped together to _appear_ to look like democracy when really it was all about aristocracy like it use to be before the breakout.”

“Why don’t we do it?” Lee says, eyes flickering between us. “Seriously—why don’t we _actually do it_?”

“Because—we’ll most likely get caught and killed while escaping,” Paige says, looking at Lee sternly. “I don’t know about ya’ll, but I’d rather be in Mountain View and actually _alive_ than most likely get killed trying to run off.”

“But Paige,” I say, my body subconsciously turning in her direction. She looks over at me, giving me her full attention. “You’re not _fully living_ if you do that—you’re not if you decide to stay here and live under the dictatorship Jeff and the Board have over us—you’re not _fully living_ if you _don’t try_. Isn’t that what you want—that if you’re going to die out of the all the fucking shitty possible ways we can die with what the world has turned into, you’d die _trying_ —die _fully living_?”

Silence slips back in between us as Paige turns away from me, fingers laced together, elbows on the table, her head propped up on her connected hands. I turn my body away from her and I’m back to sitting straight. I turn my attention back to my food and continue to eat as if it never happened—as if this entire conversation took place, just content with the watery greenery in my mouth. My eyes are cast down, focusing on eating, but I can see from the corners of my eyes Lee and Taylor also resuming with eating, Lee practically _inhaling_ his food even.

“Let’s do it.”

I turn my head up, looking to the source of that statement.

 _Paige_.

“Let’s fucking _do it_.”

I see Lee starting to slowly nod his head from the corner of my eye, so I start to turn my head to look at him. He carefully sets his fork down on the tray, and he starts to nod his head faster. “Count me in,” Lee says, a sly smile starting to surface on his face as his nodding increases.

I turn to look straight ahead at Taylor now, only finding that her gray eyes have been staring at me firmly this entire time. Her long arms are extended completely forward, her fingers intertwined at the end. She licks her pink lips, and then swallows.

“On one condition.”

“What is it?” I ask Taylor for clarification, raising a brow.

“That Calla will be our leader. But we should all vote on that before deciding.”

The fork in my hand drops, filling the entire busy dining room with the sound of the metal hitting my ceramic, white plate that only has a bit of my salad left. I blink my eyes as they widen, and I completely raise my brows. “W-What?!” I say, mouth agape.

“Yeah— _you_ , Calla. Why not? Tell me why the fuck not, when _you’re_ the only other connection between us—when _you’re_ the one who got us all to meet like this—when _you’re_ the one who survived a gun shot in your shoulder that was just a few inches away from hitting _your heart_ , you lost so much blood, yet you recovered so damn quickly and here you are now? You were a fucking _lawyer_ for the _military_ , Calla, and had even worked at U.S. embassies in other nations! You were fucking _made_ to bring back civilization and order with that background of yours! _Tell me why the fuck not, Calla_.”

 _Remind me never to test or get on Taylor’s bad side_ , I think to myself after her reaction to my question. I stiffly swallow, realizing just how tight my throat has become. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs, like a bird trying to desperately escape it’s cage and fly free away from all the control—away from it’s current reality.

“Yeah….” Lee says quietly, and he turns to look at me. “Yeah,” he says louder, and much firmly this time. “Why the fuck _not_ , Calla? I vote yes.”

Paige quickly nods her head, the dirty blonde and straight hair on her head that’s pulled back into a teeny tiny ponytail bouncing as she does. “Yeah!” she says ecstatically, and her voice is also filled with determination, “ _Why the fuck not_?! I vote yes, too!”

“You all already know my vote—but in case you don’t, it’s a yes,” Taylor says. “So, Calla, _why the fuck not_?”

I rub my eyes with hands, and then my fingers that are pressed together slip down to the sides of my nose, run over my skin down the sides of my nose, move over my lips, down to my chin, and then along my jaw till I reach my ears. I let my hands fall in my lap once I do, and I blink my eyes in thought as I look down at my hands, each palm pressed firmly on top of my upper thighs on my jeans. I squeeze my thighs, feeling the tips of my fingers press the hardest into my legs as compared to the rest of my hands.

My head snaps up.

“I’ll do it. I’ll fucking _do it_.”

*********************************************************************************

Eight Months Earlier  
_Mountain View—Calla’s House  
_ _1 A.M._

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Paige asks, her head tilted down, eyes glancing up at me from where I stand directly across from her.

I’m fumbling around with the duffel bag strapped across my body, zipping it up after I finished packing it. Once I do, I bring my hands up to the straps of my backpack, adjusting them so my bag is tight against my back. Because I can’t risk having this slip off and fall while running—we can’t risk losing _anything_ tonight.

“Yeah…It is,” I say, looking over to Paige.

We’re all standing around my dining room—or, rather, what use to be a dining room for whatever family lived here before the breakout. Taylor is standing over at the long, dining table, zipping up the pockets of her backpack. Meanwhile Lee is standing in a circle with Paige and myself, ready to go. All the lights are off in my house, with just two candles in the room that are lit so we can see. Because of curfew and all the other rules Jeff and the Board has put on this place, we have to make sure that the guards can’t see any light at all in the house even through the closed blinds.

“You ready?” Lee asks, motioning towards Taylor with the tilt of his head.

Taylor slides her backpack on and adjusts the straps so it’s also tight against her back. She turns her body to face us and nods her head. “Whenever you all are.”

I glance between Lee and Paige, and then look to Taylor. “We’re ready.”

“Let’s go over the plan once more,” Paige says, and Taylor walks over and joins us in the circle we’re huddled in.

“Taylor and I are going to leave our packs on the edge of the fence in the back of the community. We’re going to walk over and go talk to Steve and Harrington, who are both on guard tonight, and keep them occupied with,” Paige jokingly grins while fluffing her tiny ponytail, “our charming looks.” Taylor giggles as Paige does this, shaking her head.

We planned on leaving on this particular night for two reasons—the first because there are always two guards on duty each night at the front gate, and both Steve and Harrington were planned for tonight who have made several passes at Taylor, Paige, and myself before, and we’ve learned if any of us ever made a single pass at one of them they’d be all over it. The second reason is because once a month, during the day, all the cars Mountain View has are repaired and looked at for maintenance by our “handyman” named Bobby, and at the end of the day right before curfew he’ll move all of them to be right behind the community dining hall, and will move them back to be at the very front of Mountain View where the guard stations are the next day at 7 AM. Because he does that, the house covers the view of the cars, so no one can see any one of us walking over and climbing into it.

“Meanwhile, Calla and Lee will walk over to the dining hall where all the cars are still and find one that’s unlocked. While Taylor and I talk to Steve and Harrington, and they hear the engine turn on and want to investigate, Taylor and I will whip out the compliments and sex appeal,” Paige continues, and Taylor now jokingly puts her hands on her breasts and pushes them up, making us all laugh quietly. “You’ll both slowly drive the car over to the back of Mountain View and park it—leave the engine running, since you’ll be far enough from the front to where they won’t hear it. Taylor and I will leave and ‘walk back home,’ like Steve and Harrington think we will be doing, but instead we’ll meet you both at the back and open up that large patch we found last month in the fence. Ya’ll will drive the car through it, Taylor and I will grab our bags, close the fence, hop in, and we’ll drive off.”

Paige sucks in a breath now that she’s done, and she’s looking at us with determined eyes.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say with a grin. “Let’s head out.”

*********************************************************************************

Despite nearly everything going to plan, of course we encountered a mishap—because somehow Steve and Harrington were able to hear the engine after Taylor and Paige left, and Steve went off to investigate. Once he did, I was behind the wheel with Lee in the passenger seat, the car already on the other side of the fence, and Taylor and Paige were patching up the chain-link fence, just about to finish up. As Steve walked up, clutching onto the gun strapped around his body, he saw Taylor and Paige on their knees with the Jeep SUV Lee and I stole just a few feet from them, working on the very bottom of patching up the whole.

“ _HEY!_ What the _fuck_ did I say?!” Steve shouts, raising up his gun. Taylor and Paige glance up, but don’t freeze up—instead, they hurriedly work on closing the very bottom, working as fast as possible.

Steve, seeing that they’re still working, shoots a few bullets at the grass near the fence, causing both women to jump, their hands trembling. They both get up and hurriedly run to the car, and that’s when Steve starts to let out rounds of gunfire while as they climb into the car. I slam my foot on the gas, the tires squealing on the concrete as rubber burns, and I grit my teeth as Steve continues to try and shoot at us in the pitch black dark.

But we manage to escape despite this, no one getting wounded, and speed off into the night down the nearest road. And once we are on the road and Mountain View begins to disappear behind us, the car is filled with our howling laughter. I roll my window down, and Paige and Taylor roll down theirs in the back, enjoying the cool breeze on our warm faces.

*********************************************************************************

I never realized how good we had it out there—how great the days and nights were despite the fact that we were making it day-to-day—until we were forced to become part of The Haven. I never realized how much I wish I could go back to it all until we came face to face with Cris and his men. Despite the fact that we were starving at the end of those two months—despite the fact that we were on the edge when we encountered Cris—those were the best days since before Mountain View…

“I want to go on runs—scavenge.”

I keep my eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. And I see his brow furrow in complete confusion for a few seconds, as if trying to let my words settle into his thoughts. Then, he starts to laugh, shaking his head. “I should have been clear from the get-go…anything _but_ that, sweetheart. I can’t allow it,” Negan says as his laughter dies down.

I can’t explain it—can’t explain why my body feels like it’s burning hot all of a sudden—why my head feels like it’s on fire as I clench my jaw at his reaction. Acting like this is all some joke—like me wanting to work for points, and do it by scavenging and going on runs—is some fucking _joke_.

“Why?!” I snap bitterly, “After what I’ve been through, having a fucking _choice_ is the one thing I deserve! I can tell you how _long_ I’ve been out there for, whether it’s on my own or with others, and what _I’ve had to do_ to survive! I’ve been on the brink of starvation while out there—I’ve made it on my own for _weeks_ without ever seeing one person because the group I was with were all fucking killed by people like Cris! I’ve been the _leader_ of a large group and had to make the tough calls that I know you are constantly making on a daily basis! And if I can do that—if I can do that, I’m sure as hell I can go on runs and scavenge, Negan.”

I swallow and lean back in my seat, but my hands are still wrapped in his large hands. I feel all of that heat that coursed through my body before and while I went off on him leave, replacing with a tingling and cool like sensation. And I look at him, waiting—waiting for him to chew me out—to put me back in my place, because I was definitely out of line considering all he’s done for me, Paige, and Lee…but I couldn’t help it. Even though I knew I shouldn’t have before I and while I did go off on him, I just…

He sighs, eyes leaving me once more. I see him looked at our joined hands, and I can’t help but look at them as well—how our fingers are laced together, his so much longer and bigger than mine—how his palms are double the size of my own—how my skin is so much darker than his even though he has a slight tan. I glance up at him, seeing his brow furrowed as he continues to look at our hands.

Until he looks up, his hardened gaze having something else mixed in there.

“Fine. But you won’t be able to start right away—not like _that_.”

I blink my eyes, confused. “What do you mean—like _that_?”

“Darling, you’re too fragile right now. I don’t mean mentally, but…”

As he says that, I realize what he means—I realize exactly what he means. That he’s talking about my _body_ —about how my body looks, and exactly what kind of shape that tells him I’m in. I turn my head down, looking at precisely what he’s talking about—I see the two or three bones poking out through my chest, above my breasts, exposed by the v-neck shirt I’m wearing. I swallow, and bring my head back up to look at him.

“…physically. I need you to be healthy before you can be out there working for me. And before then, I’m going to have to run a physical test on you to make sure you won’t fucking die on me once you do start working out there.”

“And when will that be?”

He smiles a bit, shaking his head. “We’ll cross that bridge once we get there. But for now, I need you to concentrate on getting better, alright?”

I nod my head, and once I do Negan stands up. He tilts his head up slightly, and I stand up in return. He walks around this small table we were at and towards the front door, and I furrow my brow as I watch him.

“C’mon, we’re gonna get you some clothes for you to sleep in. I’m not going to have you fucking sleeping like _that_. You’re fucking _home_ now, so you should fucking feel like you are,” he says from where he stands by the door.

I nod my head yet again, walk to where he stands, and I stop in front of him. “Thank you,” I reply softly. I can’t help but reach and put my hand on his upper arm, squeezing it. When I do, I feel his cool leather under my warm skin—I feel how firm his arm feels, yet somehow soft—I note how lean he is, and just how strong he is despite how soft he looks at me from time to time.

I watch as Negan raises a hand up and settles it on top of mine, squeezing it.

“Don’t thank me, sweetheart. It’s the least I can do.”

I blink my eyes, taken back by how he’s looking at me, because he’s looking at me the same way he did at The Haven before I put on my jacket. He’s looking at me with those serious, dark hazel eyes with sadness mixed in—with the corners of his lips pulled down. And I wonder why—I wonder why he’s being so nice to me, and looking at me like this still despite what I said earlier—despite some of the things I’ve said earlier.

Negan lifts my hand off his arm. He laces our fingers together and gives my hand another squeeze, and I finally look away from him and to the door. He turns the knob with his other hand, and as he opens it I feel his hand leave mine. He holds it open for me and I step out into the hallway, standing and waiting for him. He shuts the door and joins me at my side, and we walk down the halls of this place—this new place—this new _“home”_ —beside one another.

There’s nothing but silence as my eyes flicker about, taking in the detail I can of this place at night—as my head turns every now and then, trying my best to take it all in while I can.

“Don’t worry, I know it’s overwhelming. I’ll give you the grand ol’ tour first thing in the morning,” Negan says, breaking the silence. And all I do is nod my head as I continue to look all around while we walk.

Eventually we come to a stop in front of a shut, black door. I stand behind him as he unlocks and opens it, walking straight into the grand room filled with fluorescent lights. My eyes flicker around, seeing food and other items mixed in as I walk behind Negan, and the door shuts behind us. Immediately I here the sound of a chair moving, and I turn my head rapidly to the direction it came from. As I do, I don’t realize that I’m still walking and that Negan has stopped in front of me, causing me to accidentally bump into his back. I blink my eyes, but I don’t look to him as his arm reaches out from behind him and he settles his hand on shoulder. I see a tall, broad, and hefty man with dark hair standing from behind a table, his chair behind him. Then, he steps to the side, and automatically drops to his knees.

I furrow my brow as I see him like this—see him on both his knees, head turned down, clearly because of Negan’s presence.

_Cris._

How they would all drop to their knees and bow down to him everywhere he went, including myself, unless he said otherwise.

_Cris._

How he’d walk past everyone, not even waving a hand or a single glance down at us as his footsteps disappeared.

_Cris._

_Give me love—_

“You can stand up now,” Negan chuckles lightly, leaning back a bit as he does. The man stands up straight, looking at the two of us now.

“This is Calla, and she’s new here as of tonight. You’re going to make sure to treat with respect like the fucking lady she is. Whatever she gets here tonight won’t be deducted from her account because it’ll be under _my_ name, got it?” he says firmly, yet somehow with a smile. I tilt my head up at Negan, seeing that—seeing his smile with that deep voice of his, and then I look back to the man behind the table once he finishes.

“Yes sir,” the man says in reply while nodding his head.

“Good,” Negan replies. He turns on his toes in a one hundred and eighty degree angle, and starts walking to the back. I turn my body as he does, following directly behind him, my head held up as I look amongst the shelves we’re passing. Until I notice that we walk into a room connected to the back of this place, Negan flipping on the switch as he walks in before me. I see racks of clothes—men’s, women’s, and children’s—in front of us scattered about. He sets Lucille down on the chair near the door, and then walks immediately over to the first rack which has a variety of women’s clothes hanging from it, starting from one end, shifting through every article of clothing hanging off each hanger, eyes set.

I stop behind him, blinking my eyes as I look down the rack and to the other racks of clothes, then back to his long fingers that push back every single hanger to the left. He does so quickly, and I can’t help but watch, because I’m not sure if I should join—not sure if me joining would seem like I’m taking advantage of him or not. So I stand behind him off to the left a bit, watching with my wide eyes.

And as I watch him brush through many clothes, I can’t help but notice the various sizes, ranging from nearly every size imaginable. I glance down at my own body, my fingers pulling at the end of my v-neck, seeing how loose it is on me. I twist my lips, recalling how it use to fit so… _perfect_ over a year ago. I’m so…so… _thin_ now—so _boney_.

_—Give me dreams—_

“ _Aha_!” Negan says, pulling a hanger off the rack. I jump a little, startled by his sudden proclamation, and turn my head up away from my body and to him. He’s turned halfway towards me, eyes filled with excitement as he looks at the outfit he’s holding with his available hand in front of him. I glance over at it, noticing that he’s holding a matching set light pink pajamas with black polka dots all over it. The top is a button-up, with long sleeves, and matching pants. The pants have lace on the bottom and the waist-band, while the top has black lace on the edge of the collar and on the cuffs of the sleeves.

_—Give me a good self-esteem—_

Then he turns completely to me before I have a chance, putting it up against my body. “Look up for me, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, and I tilt my head up a bit more to look at him. I see his brown eyes glancing down, his lips pulled back into a huge smile as he looks at the outfit against me.

“Talk about _fucking adorable_!” Negan’s smile grows wider. His eyes glance up and meet mine, and I can’t help but smile a bit too. Then he turns away from me, placing the pajama set over his right arm. He steps back and continues to look through the rack where he left off.

“Let me hold it—it’s the least I can do,” I speak up softly.

Negan turns back to face me again, and his brow is furrowed. “Remember when I said let me take care of you, Calla—if not for you, then for _me_?”

I nod.

“Let me take care of you so I know you’re okay. Until you’re fine.”

There’s that look again on his face as he says this—the same look he had back at The Haven, when he stopped outside my door and looked down at me in his arms. That same look of seriousness, but this time there’s no sadness in his eyes—this time, there’s a sense of duty, and determination, that radiates from them.

I nod my head again, and Negan turns back to the rack again. I take a step forward, and I’m back to hovering behind him like I was before.

Negan chuckles a moment later, feeling my looming presence. “You know, you can look if you want. If you see anything you like, take it. I don’t want you fucking worry about having enough points to get necessities when you can’t even work yet.”

I turn my head up to look at him, and I’m met with the sight of his profile, seeing his lips curled back into a smile. “Thank you,” I say with a small smile myself. I turn my head to the rack and I step up to it, now standing directly beside Negan. My fingers go to the metal hooks of the hangers, and I start to push them to the side as my eyes scan over every article of clothing that comes into sight. It’s when I do start this that I feel Negan’s elbow nudge my upper arm playfully, and I giggle. It seems as though my giggling makes him laugh in return, and our mixed laughter grows more as we’re both grinning from ear-to-ear.

Our laughter slowly begins to die down, and comfortable silence slips in between us. We’re standing right beside one another, just a couple of inches in between us, and I can’t help but lean against his side. His left arm comes around me and pulls me in close to the side of his body. I smile to myself, my cheeks burning, as I continue to look through the clothes, as does he. His arm stays wrapped around me as we do, and as I continue to look through the clothes I can’t help but notice how much my cheeks hurt because I can’t stop smiling— _because I actually can’t stop smiling._

I stop at the clothes hanging from the hanger I’m at, my eyes glancing at it up and down. I hurriedly take it off the rack, my smile impossibly widening more as I turn to Negan excitedly. He turns his head to face me, one brow raised in curiosity at my sudden movement. The arm wrapped around me slowly begins to drop, till it’s barely touching me yet still around my body.

“What’d ya find, sweetheart?” Negan asks, smiling at me—smiling so much at me, while I’m completely giddy and smiling back at him. And I see that again—the happiness in his eyes from earlier.

_I don’t want to feel blue anymore._

I pull the pajama set against my body, and take a step away from him, making his arm fall back to his side. “What do you think?” I ask.

It’s a matching set again, but this time it’s a silky, blue, with white polka dots spaghetti strap top with matching shorts, with white buttons trailing down the center of the top.

Negan licks his lips, and once his tongue slides back into his mouth he’s smiling, with his tongue clearly now pressed into his cheek. “ _Damn_ , sweetheart! Twirl for me,” he beckons with a tilt of his head.

I bite down on my lip as I smile, and then I make one small, slow spin for him on my tiptoes. I feel my curly hair come off my shoulders just a bit as I do, whipping around with me. As I come to a stop on my heels, my hair settles back down on my shoulders, chest, and back.

“Fuck, Calla! Do you even know how fucking beautiful you’ll look in that? Shit, I can picture it in my head!” Negan chuckles and grins at me, “You’re gonna have to put that on for me some time.”

I feel my cheeks begin to burn, and I press my lips together in a sheepish smile. “Maybe,” I say innocently. “We’ll cross that bridge once we get there,” I counter teasingly.

And somehow, I feel comfortable enough to do that—comfortable enough to possibly put myself in jeopardy, just to joke back for what he said earlier.

_If it were Cris, though…_

Negan bursts out in laughter, practically howling at my statement. As his laughter dies down he closes the distance between us, and takes the pajama set from my hands and sets it over his arm with the other set. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his side again. His head turns down, and mine is tilted up with the same smile on my face from before, and he’s grinning back down at me.

“Fuck, sweetheart, where have you been all my life?” Negan asks and chuckles, and I giggle in return.

He then turns back to the rack, walking back to where he was before, his arm still wrapped around me and bringing me along with him. His hand is on my hip as we look through the clothes together again, the silence creeping back in between us.

We go on like this till we’ve looked through two racks. By the time we finish the second rack, Negan and I have pulled out two more sets of pajamas, some simple t-shirts, pant and jeans, two baseball caps, and a jacket. And once we are finished, I turn to him.

“You said only pajamas. Why’d you get me more than that, Negan?” I ask, turning to face him as we stand in front of the doorway of the backroom of the store.

His faces me, and turns his head down to look at me. His eyes are serious, while his lips are in a straight line.

“All you have are the clothes on your back. I saw how much you had in your drawers back there, Calla. You barely had anything. You need shit, and I don’t want you worrying about it, alright? And I need you to have shit in order to better before you can even start to work for points. So until we get to that point, _I’m_ taking care of _you_ , alright?”

I nod my head slowly, looking up at him curiously. I can’t help but wonder—I can’t help but wonder if he’s rescued any other women who were abused, and if he did whether he’s treating them like he’s treating me. Or maybe it’s because of the physical state I’m in on top of what’s happened to me that he had the luck of walking in on…

Or, rather, that _I_ had the luck of him walking in on...

_Give me good and pure—_

“Thank you,” I answer softly. And after I do, Negan turns away from me and walks through the doorway, leaving the back room we were in and making his way back into the store. His footsteps stop just a couple of feet from the doorway, realizing that he can’t hear my own behind him, and he turns to completely face me again, staring long and hard at me for what seems like minutes but is actually a good ten seconds.

“You want to say something else—say it.”

I blink my eyes and furrow my brow. “How…?” I ask, completely confused—completely confused by the fact that there was something else I wanted to say, and unsure of how he was able to tell solely based off me standing still while he walked away.

Negan chuckles at me. “Darlin’, I hate to break the news to ya, but you can read everything you’re thinking and feeling on your face. Well, at least when you let your guard down,” he playfully wiggles his eyebrows and smiles at me.

I press my lips together to form a straight line in frustration with myself. I’ve always been this way—always been told this, and have tried _so fucking damn hard_ to not be like this anymore. But apparently, even in the apocalypse, I still have this as my downfall when you need to be able to put a mask on with others so you can fucking _survive_. Because the threat is no longer walkers—it’s _people_.

I sigh aloud and then twist my lips before I answer him.

“I…I felt like it was out of place for me to ask this, considering all that you’ve done and are doing for me…” I trail off, pausing as I tilt my head down and look at my feet, while my arms are crossed over my chest.

“Hey,” Negan says. I hear him walking in my direction with quick and loud footsteps, and heavy breathing. I feel his hot breath on my forehead, and the front of his shoes pressed against mine, once he stops directly in front of me. He takes my chin and tilts it up with his long fingers, and I finally look at him. I find that the middle of his eyebrows is completely creased, his nostrils are flared, and the corners of his lips are slightly pulled down.

_Genuinely worried—genuinely caring._

_Give me everything, all your heart can bring._

“ _Nothing_ is out of place till you’re use to how things work around here, got it? It ain’t out of place with me till then, so it sure as fuck won’t be out of place with my men,” he says firmly.

I nod my head.

“So tell me.”

“What about Paige and Lee?” I ask.

Negan smiles down at me. “Even after all you’ve been through, you _still_ think about and put them first, don’t you?”

I swallow, and my throat feels tight. “They’ve just…” My eyes glance completely away from him and to the left. “They’re the only reason why I was still alive when you and your men came tonight. If it wasn’t for them…” My eyes shift to look back at him, staring into the depths of his eyes seriously.

There it is—that same exact look from The Haven again—his hazel eyes glowing brightly with sadness, his lips pressed together and pulled down.

Negan lets go of my chin and wraps his arms around my body, despite the clothes hanging on his arms, and pulls me in close. I feel his chin rest on top of my head, while my cheek presses against his chest. I shut my eyes, allowing myself to relax into his body.

“Simon is taking care of them tonight just the way I am for you, alright?” he reassures me quietly. I can feel his hand stroking my curly locks of hair as he says this.

I nod my head, causing my cheek to rub lightly against his leather jacket.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Negan dips his head down into the crook of my neck, shuts his eyes, and buries his head into my hair. I feel him squeeze me impossibly tighter, and I can’t help but feel so… _small_ and _tiny_ like this—so _breakable_.

But not in the bad way, for some reason. No—I like it. I… _I like this._

_I don’t want to feel blue anymore._

His arms tighten around me again in response, and my cheek presses more into his firm chest.

Don’t let go—I don’t want to let go—I don’t want him to let go.

 _Please, don’t let go_ , I repeatedly think in my head, squeezing my eyes tight.

“Let me take care of you, Calla. I need you to worry about yourself and getting better first, alright? And I need you to allow me to _help you_ with doing that,” he whispers.

“Okay,” I whisper back, and I squeeze him in return.

We stay like this for a couple of more minutes until I let go—until _I’m_ the one who lets go.

As I pull back from him, I suck in a breath, and Negan turns around and walks out of the room and into the store yet again.

And this time, I follow right behind him, not hesitating at all.

I walk behind him as he weaves through a few of the aisles, making his way to the front of the store. As he gets closer to the table of the front of the store, just a few long strides away from stopping, the guy from earlier who was behind the table quickly rises from his chair and stands up straight. Negan stops in front of the table taking all the clothes we grabbed for me out of his arm and placing it on the surface. The man immediately opens up a notebook to his side, grabbing the pencil right by it, and starts to go through each item to mark it down both in the inventory count and for Negan’s column. Meanwhile, Negan leans against the table in silence, one hand on the surface and the other on his hip, head turned down as he watches the man carefully take note of everything and marking it down.

Minutes fly by in silence as this happens, till eventually the last article is marked off.

“All done, sir,” he says. Negan gathers up all the clothes and hats, draping the clothes over his arm again and holding the hats in one of his hands.

“Thanks, Matt,” Negan replies.

*********************************************************************************

Six Months Prior  
_The Haven  
_ _11:30 P.M._

We’ve been here for two months now—two months, and with each passing day, each of us has been catching onto how this place is. Or, rather, _what_ this place is.

The bruises and deep scratch marks on various women’s arms, necks, faces—bright red burn marks that are scabbing over on some of the men’s legs, faces, forearms, and biceps.

I see it every time I go to the women’s communal bathroom to shower—see it on their naked and bare bodies as they leave one of the shower stalls, walking out to grab a towel to dry off.

I especially see the bruises on their inner thighs, usually being dark purple with blue and green mixed in.

Right now I’m finally leaving Cris’s office, done with work for today even though I’ve been up and doing work since 6 AM. It’s finally time to go back to my room, where I know my roommate Cara will be already sound asleep, and I’ll knock out as soon as my body hits the mattress.

I leave his office, closing and locking the door behind me, and put the key in the front pocket of my jeans. I walk down the hall and make a right turn. I navigate through my usual route to my room, which only takes four hallways to get through since it’s the fastest way to take instead of taking the route that makes me have to go through the entire back of the building and walk around in one large loop to get to the front where my room is.

Just as I’m about to make another right turn, going to head into the third hallway now, I hear a high-pitched scream. I slowly make the turn, stopping at the beginning of the hall.

I stand there, silent with wide eyes, seeing two people at the other end of the hall—one a man, the other a woman.

One of Cris’s right hand men, I recognize—he’s one of his men.

 _Matt_ —right, that’s his name. _Matt_.

The same man who tackled me to the ground two months ago in the barn when Cris found and took us here—the same man who pushed us all out of the van roughly when we arrived here. He’s one of his advisors, but mostly serves as Cris’s main guard since he’s well-trusted.

Matt has a woman, who is much smaller and shorter than him, with her torso pushed against the wall. Her arms are bent back, him gripping her wrists with one hand and the other pressing a gun to the side of her head, and her legs are spread apart with one of his legs in between them. One of the woman’s cheeks faces me, and I’m able to make out even from this distance the bright red handprint glowing on her skin, and the tears that run down over it.

“It’s past curfew! Get the _FUCK_ to your room, and keep your lips fucking _SHUT_!” Matt howls ferociously at me.

My heart rate increases drastically—my right knee bends a little, my body just barely, oh just _barely_ lurching forward by a few centimeters, as if I’m readying myself to sprint down this hall and intervene.

But I don’t.

I don’t take that step forward.

I don’t make that sprint down this long hallway to the other end of it to save that woman I don’t know from precisely what I know Matt is about to do to her.

I turn away, my back facing him, and walk back the way I came from. I navigate my way through the halls yet again, forced now to take the long back route to my room.

Once I make it to the hallway my room is in, my strides grow faster and longer, and I feel my body hurdling across the hall as I suddenly sprint to my door. I stop in the middle of the hallway, turning to the right to where it is, my hand trembling as I unlock it with they key.

I open the door and slip in, and I’m able to see that Cara’s bed is empty thanks to the fluorescent light that spills into our dark room from the open doorway. I quickly slam the door shut, flip on the light switch next to it, turn to face the door, and lock both of the locks we have on it.

I turn away again to face our room, my back pressing against the wooden door as I stare at Cara’s empty bed.

 _That’s right—that’s right. She’s working night shift guarding the kitchen tonight. How could I forget?_ I remind myself.

But as soon as that thought ends, as if it only crossed my mind to distract me for the six seconds it took to say it internally, I clutch onto my chest as I feel my throat, chest, and nearly ever body in my muscle tighten. I clutch on tight as my vision blurs completely all of a sudden, tears leaving my eyes so fast that they only take one second to stroll down my cheek till they hit my chin and drop to the floor. My tears drop to the floor, just as I too drop to the floor, sliding along down the door till I collapse into myself, curling up in a ball, heaving and crying.

Because I haven’t cried since the week before we ran away from Mountain View—because this is the first time I’ve cried in three months.

And I can’t stop. _I can’t stop. I can’t stop._

_I can’t stop._

*********************************************************************************

_Give me something good and true—_

His hand wraps around my arm, pulling gently on it, stringing me along as he walks out of the store.

I blink my eyes, snapping back to reality, looking forward to see the back of his head as we leave and walk down the hall.

We walk like this in complete silence, his large hand still wrapped around my slim forearm, as I eventually catch up so I’m walking by his side. We walk like this till we get to my room. We stay in this silence as he opens the door and I step in, then he does and shuts the door. I stand next to the closed door, watching as Negan walks directly past me and to my twin size bed where he sets everything down at, and as he sets Lucille down on the ground and sets her against the bed frame. Then he turns, standing in front of my bed still, but now facing me with that stern look on his face.

“What happened back there—at the store?”

I blink my eyes. “What do you mean…?”

His eyes narrow slightly on mine, and he tilts his head up a bit in my direction. “You know what I fucking mean, Calla.”

I do know what he means—I knew since he asked. But I just…

_How do I explain that I let a woman get raped and didn’t even try to help her? How do I explain that, when he put his own life on the line to save me, and I couldn’t even attempt to do that for someone else?_

I swallow, my head lowering, looking at my shoes. My arms are extended down and in front of me, and my thumbs run across each other as I figure out where to begin exactly.

“I just—I remembered something that happened a couple of months into being at The Haven, when you said that guy’s name. There was one night when I was on my way back to my room when…” I pause, biting down on my lip briefly, “When I saw one of Cris’s right hand men, whose name was Matt, had a woman pressed against the wall with a gun to her head, clearly about to rape her…”

I suck in a deep breath and then continue. “He saw me and shouted at me to get back to my room, threatened me if I didn’t, and I did—I instantly turned around and walked the long way back.”

I lift my head up to look at him, finally daring to look into his eyes—finally willing myself to look into his eyes and see what I’m sure will be disappointment as I finish up.

_—I don’t want to feel blue anymore._

But I don’t see disappointment—I see that sadness glowing in his irises yet again…

“I hesitated, for a split second, before I did—but I didn’t even try to help her. I didn’t even try, and instead went straight back to my room like Matt had yelled at me to. I didn’t—I didn’t—“

I stop, shaking my head completely. “It’s nothing—it’s really nothing. Don’t worry.”

I let out a shaky breath as the silence creeps back in between us, shutting my eyes. But after what feels like has been ten seconds, I open them when I hear him begin to curse and rant.

“Fucking fuckity _FUCK_!” he snaps, which is what causes me to open my eyes and look at him, seeing his lips pulled down into a deep frown.

“I should have fucking _known_ that fucking shit was fucking going on in that fucking _HELL ON FUCKING EARTH_!” Negan is raising his voice now, it growing steadily louder as he continues to go on, with his arms waving around and all, “I could have fucking—at least I fucking killed all those fucking _rapist_ fucking assholes, but _FUCK_ _I could have_ —“

I don’t think about it—I don’t think about what I’m doing at all. The moment I hear him say “ _could have_ ,” I walk all the way across my room with long strides, closing the distance between us as fast as I can. Before he notices himself that I’ve done this from how lost in his thoughts and angry rant that he’s in, I stop in front of him and wrap my hands around his upper arms, squeezing them as I tilt my head up completely to look at him.

I feel…I feel strong, _truly_ strong, for the first time this entire night. I feel it in this moment, even though I simultaneously feel so tiny as I look up at him.

“Negan, it’s over. They’re gone. _You_ ended it.”

I say those words softly—I whisper them as I gaze up at him.

His hazel eyes blink at me, and at first he looks confused as he looks back down at me too. He does, until I feel his tight muscles relax under my grasp, and his head begins to nod.

“I can’t fucking help it. It just…makes my blood fucking boil knowing there are mother fucking men like that out there in this fucking shit world—especially knowing that these fucking men were right in my own fucking backyard and I didn’t even fucking know it until…” Negan sighs, and places his hands on my forearms, squeezing them. “Don’t worry about me, Calla. Why don’t you change?”

My breath hitches in my throat, my lips slightly parted, and I’m barely able to speak but somehow I’m able to. “You won’t leave, right?” I suddenly croak out—and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I do this right now, and why I even ask this in the first place.

But as I do the strength I once felt dissipates, and I feel smaller than ever before.

“I won’t leave,” he promises in a low, deep, yet soft whisper.

Our hands slip off each other as I take a few steps around him, grabbing the light blue, silk pajama set I pulled off the rack earlier that he liked so much. I put it over my bent arm and turn, walking to the tiny bathroom.

“Before you change, Calla, I need to know…”

I’m stopped by the sound of his voice. I stop walking, just two feet away from the bathroom door, and turn my head to look at him.

“Do you think you can sleep by yourself tonight? Just you?”

I turn around so I completely face him now, and I furrow my brow and turn my head down in thought. But I feel the muscles in my face relax, suddenly feeling just how exhausted my body is.

I know despite how drained I’ve realized that I am, that once I lay down and close my eyes, laying in my twin size bed with no one in the room, that I’ll see it all again.

I know that I’ll end up sitting in the corner on my bed, curled up in a ball, eyes wide open even if the lights are on, and not get any sleep.

I know that I’ll end up how I would most nights at The Haven, and that was before I saw all the bloodshed today…

“Yes…No…I—“ I turn my head up to look at him again, clenching my jaw as my eyebrows crease in the middle, while pressing my lips together.

“I don’t know…” I reply quietly.

Negan turns his head to the side briefly in thought, and then turns back to me. “I want you to know, you can spend the night with me if you want to. _Only_ if you want to. And when I say that, I’m not implying that we’re going to fuck or anything. I mean, you can sleep in my bed—with me—so you’re not alone and can get some sleep tonight. Because, no offense sweetheart, but you really need some fucking sleep.”

My left cheek just barley twitches up, before I’m cracking a huge smile and laughing aloud while nodding my head in agreement with his comment. “The bags are that bad now, huh?” I ask with a smirk, pointing at my eyes, and Negan laughs in return.

“Let’s just say you look like you could use being a fucking coma for a good week straight,” he says, and we both laugh together.

Once our laughter dies down, the silence coming back, I start to nod my head.

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” I say quietly. “Is it alright…?”

“I just need you to say the words, Calla. I just need to hear them.”

I nod my head again.

“I don’t want to sleep alone. May I sleep with you, please?”

Negan nods his head, and he opens his arms. I smile as I walk across the room to him. As I get into his arms, he turns us so we’re facing the door, one arm wrapped around my waist and pulling me into his side. He opens the door and walks out before me, tugging me along by his side. He only lets go of me for a brief moment to shut and lock the door, then slides his arm around me and pulls me into him again.

We walk to his place, side by side like this, until we arrive outside his door.

Negan lets go of me to unlock his door, and holds it open as I walk in.

I’m met with the sight of dark brown hardwood flooring—with grand windows that nearly take up all the walls, one of which has dark gray curtains tied to the side. To the left of the front door is a large fireplace, put together with light and dark gray bricks, and on the mantel are a few candles. Across from that is a burgundy couch big enough to sit three people, with nearly gold wood making up the legs of it. My eyes flicker further back in this common room to the brown desk that’s beside the window with the curtains, the left side of it pressing against the window, with a matching wooden chair with a red cushion on it. I turn my head to the right, seeing that the desk is facing what is a rather tiny kitchen, with granite tiles on the counter that are a mix of different shades of brown, black, and gray, with egg white freckling throughout it. Nearby the kitchen, but not in it, is a small table with four chairs pulled around it. Towards the back of the room, close to what I presume to be he door to his bedroom, is a decently sized brown, wooden bar, with two wooden high chairs pulled up to it. I can see different shapes and sizes of bottles of alcohol behind it—wine, scotch, whiskey, maybe some beer, I’m able to make out.

As my eyes glance all about, taking in the sight of what I’m able to see so far of his place, I don’t even hear Negan shut the door and walk towards me. I don’t even notice him until I feel his heavy, large hand being placed on my right shoulder, his long fingers squeezing me there.

I can’t help but jolt under his grasp, sucking in a breath as I automatically step forward and away from him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin’,” he says in a low voice.

I turn around to face him, seeing that his head is turned down—that his eyes are on the floor instead of on me.

I swallow, realizing why this is his reaction—realizing why _I_ reacted like that.

Because as hard as I’ve been trying to mask it—as much as I’ve been trying to mask the past nearly eight months of—of being…by Cris…it’s managing to leak through subconsciously through my actions and reactions.

Because he feels guilty because of this—because this is how I naturally reacted without realizing why till now myself, just as he’s remembering and realizing himself in this moment.

“No, I-I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t even realize…” I reply, licking my lips.

“I should have asked for permission in the first place,” Negan stops me.

But I still shake my head. “No. It’s fine. I like that…I like when you…”

I trail off, biting down on my bottom lip, feeling my teeth digging into it with so much force, while my eyes glance to the right side nervously.

I hear the heels of hiss boot meet the floor as he takes one step forward towards me, followed by the feeling of his arms wrapping around my hips.

“Yeah, you do?” he asks in a whisper, voice incredibly deep and low.

I nod my head, still not looking at him.

His long fingers take me by the chin and tilt my head up, forcing me to meet his gaze. And when I do, I find his eyes to be looking into mine softly—that his light brown, hazel eyes are so incredibly light and bright.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t if you didn’t. And because I like it, too.”

My cheeks rise, my lips pulling into a closed-mouth smile, and my face begins to feel hot. Negan smiles sheepishly back down at me while his thumb strokes my chin that’s still in his hand.

But then he lets go of me, and I can’t help but feel my smile begin to fall—I can’t help but feel it begin to falter, slowly twitching back down as my eyes look down as well.

Negan places his hands on my shoulders, though, turning me so my back now faces him, and he squeezes them. I blink my eyes, turning head my head to face him. He then pushes on me gently, forcing my body to begin walking past his desk and the bar, towards the door I noticed earlier. And I look back towards him all the while.

“I want you to keep looking straight, Calla. And you can open the door once we get there,” he instructs me with a firm voice.

I turn my head away from him, looking straight with a furrowed brow in confusion. Once we stop in front of the door, I grab the silver doorknob and twist it, pushing the door open. Negan continues to walk me forward, until he makes me come to a stop once we’re in front of his bed. He lets go of my shoulders and takes a step back, all the while my eyes flicker about and my head turns, taking in the sight of his room.

Just like the common area, the walls of his room are made up with grand windows, all of which have burgundy curtains that are pulled to the side. His bed is in the middle of his room, pushed up against the back wall, and I notice that it’s a king sized bed. His comforter is a dark gray quilt, with the sheets and bed-skirt matching the color of the curtains. The headboard is black, and looks like it’s made of cushions, while the frame of his bed is dark brown and matches the same color of the hardwood flooring. On both sides of his bed are small nightstands, and are also made of dark brown wood. Both have tiny lamp on it, with the lampshade being pure white. I turn my head to the left, seeing an open door that I assume is to his bathroom.

“Fucking like what you see?” he asks.

I nod my head slowly, my mouth slightly agape as I continue to look all about. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me as I do.

“I can’t fucking blame you, sweetheart, considering the fucking _shitty ass conditions_ they had ya’ll living in. You should have been treated like a fucking _princess_!”

I giggle, turning around to face him, seeing that he has a cocky grin across his face. I shake my head, “No. It’s alright. I’m just like everyone else—I don’t deserve anything special. Plus, it’s the apocalypse…as long as I keep surviving, I’m happy.”

Now he’s shaking his head at me, still smiling as he lets out a sigh. “It’s alright. You’ll realize it eventually—what I see, and everyone else does.”

He opens his arms, beckoning for me to come to him with the simple curling of his right index fingers.

I furrow my brow at his statement, wondering what he possibly meant by that as I walk towards him. Negan’s arms slip around me, pulling me into his chest. One hand is smoothing the hair on the back of my head, while the other arm is wrapped around my upper back with that hand squeezing my upper arm. He sighs again, but it’s much lighter and softer this time—it’s barely audible even. I can only hear it because of our close proximity—because his head is dipped down close to me, his hot breath from that incredibly light sigh hitting my neck and cheek, while I lean into his body and close my eyes.

He lets go of my head after a moment, and both his hands run up and down my back. “C’mon, go take a nice hot shower. I’ll wait for you,” he says as he begins to let go of me.

I nod my head while I pull away from him. Negan walks around me and to door that I figured led to his bathroom, proving my belief to be correct as he opens it. I follow him as he does from a good distance. He flips on the light switch and walks straight inside without waiting for me or looking back. Once I get to the doorway I hesitantly take one step, pausing with one foot past the doorway and on the dark gray bathroom tile floor, with my other foot still on the dark brown hardwood flooring of his bedroom. My eyes flicker all around the bathroom, absorbing in the sight, while Negan squats down and pulls out two towels from one of the bathroom cabinets under the sink.

All of the walls are painted light gray. Starting from left to right, there’s a white toilet tucked in the upper left corner of the bathroom, with the bathroom counter next to it. His bathroom counter is made up of white granite, which has spots here and there of gray and black, and two white sinks. Above the sinks is a huge mirror, which is the same length as the countertop, and goes all the way up till it hits the ceiling. Underneath are dark brown, wooden cabinet doors and a few drawers. Those cabinets connect to two large, long wooden cabinet doors to the right of the sink that are right next to the door. Across from the counter is his shower, which is large enough to have an orgy of five or six people in it even. It’s made up of completely clear glass, and the tiles that make up the shower floor and on the portion of the walls that are encased in the shower are black. To the right of the shower are two long towel bars, which at this moment only have one towel hanging from each that seem to have been used before.

I hear the sound of Negan’s throat clearing, and my head suddenly jerks in his direction. I look at him with wide eyes, finding that he’s been looking at me this whole time, standing up and holding both folded towels in his hands.

“You can step inside, ya know,” he chuckles.

I laugh lightly, and take a few steps inside till I stop in front of him. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” I say, my head turning after to look at his huge shower once more.

“It’s alright, honey,” Negan says, and then presses the large and fluffy, burgundy towels that are in his hands against my chest.

I glance down and take them into my hands. As I do so, my hands coming over the towels to take them, his hands come over mine to overlap them.

“We only have limited running water in The Sanctuary, so we use it sparingly, but I want you to know that you can take as much time as you want showering tonight, alright? I want you to get all cleaned up and enjoy yourself while you’re at it,” he says, both his eyes and voice firm.

I nod my head.

Negan steps around me after I do, his hands slowly sliding off mine as he does. I hear his footsteps grow away from me as he walks towards the door, and I turn my body to face his bathroom countertop. I don’t hear his footsteps anymore—I don’t hear them as I suddenly find my reflecting staring back at me when I do make that turn.

_Give me anything but blue._

* * *

 

After I let go of Calla’s shoulders and take a step back, I can’t help but watch as she gets lost in my room—as her head turns wildly about, some times turned just enough to allow me to see her eyes glowing with so much brightness and life while she looks all about. I smile as I watch her, arms crossed over my chest.

At first, as I watch her, I feel puzzled—confused, even, at how she’s looking around so crazily at everything like a naïve little girl where every small thing she has never seen and experienced in life captures her attention and curiosity. Then, I feel slightly amused by her naivety—not amused in an entertained sort of way, but instead I feel amused in different way—in a way I’ve never felt before. I suppose the best way to describe it is that I feel…appreciative, being able to see this innocent, happy reaction caused by something I’m so use to seeing and live in.

This appreciation leads me into how I feel that stays and overwhelmingly grows for the rest of the evening—a feeling of fondness, of how she takes her time to soak in and appreciate all of this that’s new for her—a feeling of fondness over how innocent she looks and seems although I already know she’s far from it—a feeling of fondness mainly because I can still see a bit of happiness for life in her, despite it all.

And that’s what strikes me the most—what is most profound in this moment for me—how that bit of happiness radiates and shines so brightly off her body, face, and those mocha brown eyes of hers—that she has this remaining bit of happiness and appreciation for life in her.

After a further exchange of words and an embrace, I lead her to my bathroom, grabbing towels for her from the bottom cabinets. After I do, and I stand back up, I see her looking around the same way she did just minutes ago in my room—the same way she has been this entire time since we first stepped into my place. And that last feeling—that last feeling of fondness I can feel grow stronger as I watch her.

I clear my throat, and her head suddenly jerks in my direction. Calla looks at me with those brown, doe eyes of hers. “You can step inside, ya know,” I chuckle as I see her standing in the doorway still.

She laughs lightly, and walks until she stops in front of me. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” she replies, head turning towards my shower.

“It’s alright, honey,” I say, and then press the large and fluffy, burgundy towels that are in my hands against her chest.

As Calla takes the towels into her hands, I slowly overlap her hands, which I realize are practically the size of child’s because they’re so small, with my large ones.

“We only have limited running water in The Sanctuary, so we use it sparingly, but I want you to know that you can take as much time as you want showering tonight, alright? I want you to get all cleaned up and enjoy yourself while you’re at it,” I tell her.

She nods her head in reply, not saying anything in return. So after she does I step around her, my hands slowly sliding off hers as I do. I walk out of the bathroom, but I stop in the doorway, my back still turned to her. _You forgot to tell her to let you know if she needs help or has any questions,_ I suddenly remember. So I turn my head back, and when I do so I can tell her I pause.

I’m met with the sight of Calla facing the mirror, doe-eyed and all as she stares at her own reflection.

This time, I’m not struck with that feeling of fondness over seeing what bit of happiness is left in her shining through— _no_. This time, I’m struck by how _empty_ and _destroyed_ she seems, while she vacantly stares at herself in the mirror. I’m struck by this aching feeling in my chest and heart that feels so unfamiliar to me, caused by seeing her this way.

I clear my throat, wanting to get her attention—no, _needing_ to— _needing_ to pull her back and away from looking at herself in that way. _If not for her, then for me._

Calla jumps a bit, her body quickly turning to face me, her milk chocolate, brown eyes impossibly growing wider than they already were before.

“Hey,” I begin, “If you need any help with working the shower, just let me know. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Calla replies, nodding her head.

I turn away, and as I walk out I shut the door behind me. As soon as the door clicks shut, I hear her hurried footsteps toward the door followed by the sound of the door locking, all before my hand even slipped off the silver door handle.

My lips pull into a frown as my hand finally does leave it, falling to my side. I stare forward in thought, not knowing at what nor really caring at all.

How…how traumatized she must be—no, rather how…afraid? _No, shit. I don’t know—I don’t know how to describe how she fucking must feel and be, and I shouldn’t even fucking try because I haven’t been fucking close to going through any of what she has all this time._

But whatever state she is in—whatever she is feeling—for it to make her stare at herself like that, and to lock the door within a second flat…

I can’t blame her at all. I can’t. But it makes me more pissed off, and further disappointed in myself, seeing her like this—knowing that this entire time…

I sigh, walking away from the door and to my chest, pulling out a white t-shirt and pair of blue, plaid boxers.

_Give me love—_

* * *

 

I relish in the feeling of the hot water against my skin—of the steam that rises and builds up all around me in the confines of this grand shower, and swirls in the bathroom—of the feeling of my hair that is warm, wet, and slicked back.

I hesitate before grabbing the bottle of body wash that Negan uses, not sure at first if he’d be upset at me using it without his permission. But what makes me realize he wouldn’t be is how he was acting before—how he’s been treating me when it’s just the two of us, alone, since he first busted into Cris’s room through that door.

So after I use his body wash, which smells somewhat like a spicy cinnamon mixed with the smells of vanilla and leather, and I put back the bottle where I grabbed it from, I also use his shampoo without stopping to think about it.

But even as I squeeze out a dollop into my palm, spreading it all throughout my damp curls and massaging my scalp with my head tilted back, I think about the events of this long evening starting from the very beginning—starting from when I first saw him through the hallway light spilling in through the empty doorway, pinning Cris’s body against the wall.

I think about how he approached me, while my naked body was pressed to the corner of the wall—how I scrambled away from him like a wild animal that’s about to be put into captivity when he barely touched me—while I rinse out the shampoo.

I place his bottle of shampoo back, and grab the conditioner. I squeeze out a nice portion into my palm, and bury my hands in my hair as I spread it throughout. I realize that both his shampoo and conditioner smell exactly like how his body wash does, and I inhale the smoothing scent through my nostrils.

And as I spread it throughout my hair, which is much longer than it appears to be because of how tight it’s curls are, for some unknown reason I skip past my reunion with Lee and Paige and straight to when Negan showed me my room. I think about all the times he squeezed my hands—all the times he enveloped me in his arms and held me close, so gentle and caring.

I pile my hair up onto my head, sticking it together. I notice he has a razor, and I can use that with the body wash to shave. So I grab the bottle of body wash again, place some in my palm, and spread it all throughout my right leg. Next I grab the razor as I place my foot down on the slightly leveled area covered in tile that surrounds the shower—this same area is where he has his bottles spread throughout. I bend my leg and my torso forward, starting to shave from the bottom of my shin and up, watching as all the thick hair that’s built up over the past six months completely going away.

_Give me dreams—_

I remember how he went from allowing me to lead him, to suddenly walking forward and stringing me along right before we exited the compound and he knew he’d be seeing his men—how firm, strong, and incredibly loud he was when addressing his Saviors—how, when we arrived at the store, he was firm with Matt as well.

Yet, after all those moments, once we were alone he went back to being gentle and caring. His usual crude humor and cursing remained, but he laughed more—he placed his hands, fingers, and arms on my body more—he allowed his eyes to show precisely what he was feeling and thinking during some rare moments between us.

I finish up my right leg, and do the same thing with the body wash and razor to my left one. And what he said—that statement he told me when we were in his room—comes ringing back to me.

_“You’ll realize it eventually—what I see, and everyone else does.”_

How he was smiling as he said it—with a smile that was a mix of awe and adoration—how his light hazel eyes matched his smile perfectly. The shake of his head, in disbelief with what I said before that because for some reason I can’t understand he disagreed with me.

_“I’m just like everyone else—I don’t deserve anything special. Plus, it’s the apocalypse…as long as I keep surviving, I’m happy.”_

I sigh, pushing this moment that I still can’t quite wrap my mind around to the side so I can address it again at a later time. Because, perhaps I’ll be spending more one-on-one time with him in the future and that time will give me more insight into his words and how he said them.

I then shave both my armpits. Once I’m done with that I rinse off his razor and place it back where I found it, then turn so my body faces the showerhead and rinse off my legs. Afterwards I turn again so my back faces it, and start to rinse out my hair. My fingers are buried deep, their tips pressed into my head as I massage my scalp while the conditioner leaves. I run my fingers through my hair as well, and at times squeeze the middle of my hair while pulling it down till my hands reach the tips, getting more of the conditioner out. I do so until my hair no longer feels so incredibly soft as it does with the conditioner in it—I do until my hair feels like how it usually does when it’s drenched, only much softer.

I turn off the water and I squeeze the water out of my hair a few times, listening to the droplets of water come together and drip down to the tiled floor. I open the shower and grab one of the towels, which is sitting on the shower mat, rubbing it on every inch of my body to dry myself off. Once I’m done with that I use this towel, somewhat wet from using it to dry my body, I bend over so my hair hangs completely upside down and wrap my towel around my head. When I lift myself up, I wrap it around my hair and let it sit like that on my head. I grab the other towel, which is still dry, and wrap it around my body, tucking it in at the front.

After I step out onto the shower mat, I close the shower door behind me, hearing it shake a bit as I do. I step forward to the counter and grab my blue pajamas that are folded. I drop the towel that’s around my body to the floor, kicking it a bit to the side, and I slip on the small shorts. Then I take the towel off that’s on my head, my wet hair falling down past my shoulders since my tight curls are a bit loose, and place that towel on top of the other on the floor. I place on my bra that I was wearing earlier, followed by the spaghetti strap pajama top that matches the shorts. I look down at my body, seeing the pajama set I’m wearing that Negan had loved on me earlier this evening when I showed him and twirled around with it pressed to my body for him. I smile a bit and then look up, seeing that the mirror is too fogged up for me to see my own reflection in it.

_Give me a good self esteem—_

So, I automatically bend down and grab the towels I used, wiping down the counters that are moist from the fog caused by the shower I just took, then fold them before placing them on the counter. With one arm I grab the folded towels, and in the other I grab the clothes I was wearing earlier, which I had folded after I took them off before stepping into the shower, my running shoes on top of them. I manage to open the door by pressing down on the door handle with my elbow and pushing it open with my right hip and thigh.

When I open the door, I’m met with the sight of Negan sitting on his bed against his propped up pillows, completely bare and hairy legs extended straight out and crossed over one another. He’s wearing light blue, plaid boxers, with a white short sleeve shirt on top. His arms are exposed due to that, and I see a few black tattoos on his right arm since it faces me. His head is tilted down, reading a book with thick black-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

_Give me good and pure—_

I blink as Negan turns his head to face me, his eyebrows completely raised making his forehead wrinkle.

“How was it? Better than any fucking shower in that shithole, I bet,” he remarks with a straight face, lips curling into a smile as he says the second sentence. Once he finishes, his smile turns into a left and up wide, slanted grin.

I laugh lightly, nodding my head. “Oh, you have _no fucking idea_ ,” I reply, and his smile grows impossibly bigger at my response.

“Good,” he says with a single nod of his head.

“Now where should I put these, and then my clothes and shoes…?”

Negan closes his book, setting it down on the bed as he gets up. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that,” he says.

_—What are you waiting for?_

Before I can protest he’s standing in front of me, arms taking everything out of my grasp, his hot skin brushing against mine. I swallow, feeling my entire body tense up—feeling heat pooling in the pit of my stomach and even lower than there. Out of everything he’s done—out of every way he’s touched me—why is it that barely brushing against me while helping me finally makes me feel this way?

Negan turns away from me, walking to his closet. He opens it and puts my clothes and towels in the hamper, then places my shoes on the closet floor. He slides the door shut and turns back around, walking to his bed and climbing into it. He sits at the top of his bed on the edge, his legs over to the side with his feet planted firmly on the ground, facing me. I raises a single brow while we gaze at one another, and his lips that were in a straight line suddenly crack into a smile.

_Give me everything—_

“C’mere, princess,” he says in that deep, rough voice. I feel the hair on my arms and back of my neck stand up at the sound.

I walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his neck while his swing around my hips, pulling me into his lap. I hear Negan groan as he swings his legs back onto the bed, moving my body with his, settling me so I’m in between his legs that are spread apart. I’m curled and sitting up against him with my head on his chest, and he’s sitting up too. His hands run up and down my back slowly, and his cheek presses against the top of my head. I feel one hand leave my back, and the very end of his glasses brush against my hair as he takes them off and moves them, settling them down on the nightstand. His arm comes back around me once again.

Negan groans as he shifts our position a bit, sliding us down so we can lie in bed. He pulls up the comforter and sheets as I readjust myself with him. Negan holds up the comforter and sheets as we do so. Once he’s now lying on his back, while I’m lying down on my right side facing him, he pulls them over our bodies. After that he reaches over and turns off his lamp, the room growing dark.

I feel my eyes adjust to the darkness, somehow able to make him out as I tilt my head up to look at him. Negan shifts his body to face me, quickly intertwining our legs together—one of which is completely wrapped over my upper thigh and hip. Our bodies are pressed so much against one another.

I feel his arms that are wrapped around my waist suddenly squeeze me incredibly tight in his arms playfully while groaning a bit. I giggle as he does, while I feel my cheek squish up against his chest.

I manage to tilt my head up to look at him, smiling. “Thank you. For everything,” I whisper.

Negan tilts his head down to look at me, and then sighs. “No need. Just get some sleep, alright?”

I nod my head and bring it back down, my cheek against this chest once again, and close my eyes. I feel my eyelids grow suddenly heavy—I feel my warm body soothed by the shower and the heat from his body enveloping mine—and I smell the subtle scent of leather, a bit of musk, and cinnamon which fills my nostrils—all of these lulling me quickly to sleep.

_—All your heart can bring. Give me something good and true._

* * *

 

I feel her drifting to sleep in my arms by her light body sinking into mine—I feel her chest rising and falling slowly till I can barely feel it at all—and I feel her arms that are wrapped around me loosen slowly as they grow limp because of her muscles relaxing—all of these telling me that she’s asleep now.

_“I’m just like everyone else—I don’t deserve anything special. Plus, it’s the apocalypse…as long as I keep surviving, I’m happy.”_

It’s the first thing that rings in my mind—the first thing that comes forefront and center in my thoughts once I do feel and notice her fall asleep in my arms. And I can’t help but lie in bed like this, somewhat awake still, as I play that moment back in my mind.

_I just want to know who I’m looking for—_

The way her face looked when she said that, and the sound of her voice—all of her so clearly and genuinely humble, all the while truly unaware of how different she is than those few women I’ve rescued who were in her same position.

And when I say unaware, I mean truly unaware—not unaware in the sense of those fucking cheesy ass fucking pop songs before the walkers came, that sing about how a woman is so unaware of her beauty that it makes her beautiful to whoever wrote the fucking song. No, not unaware in that sense that romanticizes it.

When I say unaware, I mean truly unaware—unaware in the sense that she doesn’t seem to see that the bit of happiness left within her that’s been radiating and shining so brightly is so rare—it’s so rare for those few women I’ve saved who were being raped—but it’s mostly so rare for all of those who have made it this far in the apocalypse in general.

As I get lost in my thoughts on this, I can feel my eyes grow heavy finally, closing them halfway. I press my lips to her forehead, and then lower my head more so it’s buried into her hair by the crook of her neck.

“You’re too precious for this world, Calla,” I barely even whisper, my lips brushing so subtly against the soft skin of her neck.

I pull my head back and kiss her forehead once more. I close my eyes, my lips remaining just slightly against her there as I drift off to sleep.

_Give me anything but blue. Anything but blue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when the next update will be at this point--realistically, it'll probably be somewhere around the middle of January. I say this because I have New Years Eve prompt I'm writing for JDM for a one-shot, a one-shot smutty Beth/Negan (Began) fic I'm writing for a challenge, a multi-chapter Beth/Negan/Daryl/Maggie/Dwight (lmao, I know, but it'll make sense when I start, finish, and post Chapter 1 for ya'll) I've been planning now for a good 2 months, a chapter update for "Inside," and also because second semester of law school starts the second week of January. 
> 
> But I hope this chapter will make up for that, as well as how much I have planned for other works I want to complete! :-)
> 
> P.S. HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR, YA'LL! And may the shit that has been 2016 FINALLY COME TO A FUCKING END AND LET'S HOPE IT DOESN'T CONTINUE ONTO 2017 :D


	4. Survivors of the Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9,509 words ;-)

_Running—running through the halls that are quickly becoming engulfed with flames._

_Running—running through the forest in the dark, but being able to see branches and anything in my way because of the illuminating light from the flames bringing down the factory from behind me._

_Running—I’m running as I gasp for breath, not paying attention as I trip over a branch or the roots of a tree from time to time—I’m running from and dodging the walkers coming in my direction, who are drawn to the burning factor that’s behind the forest that once sustained life._

_I’m running from what was just a place, filled with so many lives that I sheltered—that I worked so hard to protect. I’m running and I have no idea where to._

_Wild, wild, wild, wild, wild._

I gasp for breath as my eyes snap open. Instinctively I put my two fingers to the side of my throat to feel my racing heart, and my right hand over my chest, as I stare up at the white ceiling above me. I breathe in and out shakily as I will myself to calm down—as I tell myself it’s all memories from before coming back to me in a dream—that it wasn’t real.

I turn my head to the side and notice that the curtains are still shut. I turn my head back to look up at the ceiling and start to sit up. I cross my legs and once I’m sitting up straight, I glance around the room I’ve just woken up in.

I blink my eyes as the events of last night come back to me—as everything that unfolded during that incredibly long night come back, and I realise whose bed I slept in. And I turn my head, finally noticing that the side he slept on is completely made. So I climb out of bed after that and walk to the front door. I open it slowly, and when I’m do I’m met with bright sunlight that fills in this living space. I squint my eyes as I step out into main area of Negan’s place. I see his back facing me as he sits at a desk, and as I walk towards him I stretch my arms above my head.

As I grow closer and I notice that he doesn’t turn his head, I decide to remain quiet and creep up to him, with every intention of trying to catch him off guard. I take my time, taking one gentle and slow step after the other, making sure to take long strides as I do. I only let the pads of my bare feet touch the floor to make sure my footsteps don’t create any noise. I lick my lips as I keep my eyes set on my prey—on this man that is about to fall victim to me.

Now that I’ve managed to get just a few feet behind him, I notice that his hair isn’t slicked back like it was last night—that it’s messy and disheveled. I also notice that he’s wearing... _glasses? Really?_ I furrow my brow when I see this—he doesn’t strike me as the type to wear glasses in the first place. But then I realize that his head is tilted down because he’s reading something—like a notebook of some sort. I twist my lips in thought, but I go back to focusing on the task at hand—at scaring the living shit out of him now that I’m close enough to and he hasn’t noticed me at all.

Once I’m directly behind him, I pop my head over his shoulder and turn to face him, and I daringly wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Good morning!” I say, and when Negan jumps a bit in his seat and I feel this reaction against me, I can’t help but giggle in delight. I then let go of him and walk just a bit till I’m standing beside his desk, turning on my toes to face him. I lean on his desk with one hand smile smugly at him.

And as I do smile down at where he sits behind his desk—as I take in his appearance like this, his hair completely messy, wearing the same white t-shirt and blue, plaid boxers from last night, and his head is tilted up as he looks at me from behind his thick-framed glasses—I wonder if this is what he usually looks like. I wonder if this is what he looks like behind closed-doors—if the demeanor, attitude, and complete opposite attire and appearance I saw last night is only what he allows everyone else to see, but when he’s by himself he looks like _this_.

Negan grins at me, and he laughs loudly while sliding his glasses off. “Well good-fucking-afternoon, sweetheart!” he says with a slanted smile. I swallow after he speaks, how deep and gravely his voice is for some reason hitting me out of nowhere. But I blink my eyes as what he says also registers in my mind.

“Good afternoon?” I ask. “So you’re telling me that I…?”

He nods his head, and leans back in his chair. Negan props his bare feet up on his desk. “Mhm, that’s right. It’s…” He flicks his wrist, checking the time on his black leather watch. “Just past one,” Negan finishes.

My eyes widen when I hear the time of day it is, and then I quickly narrow them on him as I cross my arms. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I can’t—I shouldn’t have—”

Negan shakes his head and cuts me off. “No-fucking-way. You think I was going to fucking wake you up at six in the goddamn morning after going to bed at three, and with the night you fucking had?”

I sigh and twist my lips. I glance down at the floor briefly and then back up to him. “Thank you,” I reply quietly.

It’s not that I feel bad about snapping at him a bit like I did just now—it’s not that at all. It’s that...it’s that he’s reminded me of what happened last night—it’s that once he said what he just did, everything that happened last night flashed through my mind. I had forgotten all about it, considering I woke up just a few minutes ago—I had... _I had…_

I can feel Negan’s gaze still on me, and I know that he’s taking in the change of my demeanor. From the corner of my eye I can see him take his feet off his desk and place them on the floor.

“Can I just say,” he begins, “how _fucking gorgeous_ you goddamn fucking look, and you _just_ woke up?” Negan says, his voice playfully-shocked towards the end.

My eyes flicker back to him, and despite my attempts at fighting off a smile I end up grinning as I giggle at him.

“C’mon,” Negan says, patting his lap as he sits up a bit in his chair, “Why don’t you join me, Calla?”

I nod my head. And as soon as I take a step forward towards him, his arms spread completely open for me. My cheeks start to burn as I notice how he’s looking at me—as I notice that he’s staring at me with those deep espresso eyes of his. Once I get to him I open my arms and wrap them loosely around his neck as I climb into his lap. I swing my legs over to his left side, and his arms circle loosely around my hips. But as I do move my legs over, he slips his left arm under the back of my knees and curls my legs up, while his other arm moves up from my hips to my waist. Negan pulls me in close to his chest, squeezing me tight against him with both arms. I hear him lightly groan when he does so, making his chest rumble against me, and I giggle in return. He laughs a bit when he hears me, and I turn my head a bit to be able to look at him and see that he’s smiling at me.

“Well isn’t someone a big, burly man?” I say a bit sassily.

Negan tips his head a bit back as he laughs at my comment, then brings it back down. He raises both brows at me and he squeezes me a bit tighter. “You fucking got that right, doll,” he growls lightly. I notice his eyes becoming hooded as he looks at me. And I pause as I notice his demeanor change from the playful back and forth banter we established last night to being flirtatious and somewhat sexual. I can tell not only from his own voice becoming much more deep and gravely, but how his eyes grew darker when he replied and squeezed me like that—how his eyelids are becoming slightly heavier as he continues to look at me now—how his lips start to pull back into a subtle, suggestive smirk. My heart pounds furiously against my chest as my face grows hot in this moment.

I laugh and smile from ear-to-ear as I lean into his chest. Negan sets my legs back down, and once he does I decide to readjust myself on his lap. I turn so now I sit with my back facing him, my long and completely bare legs hanging off the chair. I hook my calves around his much longer, muscular yet lean, incredibly hairy legs, causing me to lick my lips and then bite down on my bottom lip. His arms come back around me, and he places his right hand on my left hip, and his left hand on the other. Negan pulls me against his body and squeezes me against him yet again—and when he does, I feel his exposed biceps flex against my bare upper arms. His head hovers over my shoulder as he goes back to working, his right arm leaving me to reach forward and grab the pen he was using before. I lean back against him and let out a small sigh of content. I dip my head completely back so it rests against his shoulder and close my eyes.

His chest rumbles against my back again as he chuckles lightly in my ear, and I feel his hot breath hit my skin as he does. “Someone’s happy, huh?” Negan whispers. I can hear him smiling as he does even though I can’t see it.

I turn my head to the side and open my eyes halfway. My lips are centimeters from his earlobe as I say, “Mhmmm.”

Negan laughs again, and I roll my head back to where it originally was facing the ceiling.

It grows quiet between us, until a moment later I lift my head back up and open my eyes. I look down at his desk, and I note how messy it is—papers, notebooks, and folders scattered all about, with the notebook he’s reviewing over on top of the mess. I furrow my brow as I look to the notebook he’s writing in, and see that it’s split into four different columns.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what are you working on?”

“Double checking logged inventory to see what we need for our next run—checking that against the store record of items purchased with points by whoever,” he replies as he slides his glasses back on.

I continue to watch him and remain quiet. He turns his head a bit to look at me, and I can see that his brows are knitted together as he silently studies me—as I continue to look down and read what’s written on the pages of the notebook.

“It’s as fucking boring as sitting at a goddamn cubicle doing paperwork for your dickwad of a boss, isn’t it?” he says, watching and waiting for my reaction.

I giggle for a second but then I shake my head. I turn to look at him a bit, and our faces are both incredibly close when I do. “No, I don’t think so. It’s important work, too, even though it may not seem like that to many. Plus…” I trail off for a moment, not sure whether to reveal this next part about myself to him—not sure after what happened when I did at The Haven…

“I’m probably a little bias, considering before it all happened, that was pretty much the bulk of my work—filling out and filing paperwork and such.”

Negan raises a brow now, clearly curious. “Oh yeah? What’d you do before all this shit happened?”

I grin and turn my head away from him, looking forward. “See, that’s why I was hesitant in even saying that, because I _knew_ you’d ask!”

Negan tightens his grip one, squeezing me again as he starts to rocks us playfully together side to side. “Then you shouldn’t have fucking said it then. You cornered yourself this time, Calla—so you,” Negan leans in, and his lips are against my ear and brush over my earlobe and part of my neck when he says this last bit, “You better tell me, doll.” His voice is suddenly low and deep when he does, and he chuckles lightly against me. The feeling of his hot breath tickling my skin makes me shiver against him when he finishes.

I laugh as he continues to rocks us back and forth, and I press the side of my head against him. “Fine, okay!” I reply. I turn my head back to face him, and I stare into his eyes. “I was a lawyer, alright? For the Navy.”

Negan stops rocking us, and he looks back at me with stunned, wide eyes and completely raised brows. And as he remains silent for the next few moments, I bite down on my bottom lip as my mind races—as I start to internally reprimand myself for saying it again—for sharing this after what happened last time.

_Last time…_

_Last time…_

“Well...hot diggity dog, I’ll be fucking damned!” Negan finally replies enthusiastically, and even though I start to smile in return I’m still nervous as hell as to what’s going to follow afterwards. “So you’re telling me, not only were you a _lawyer_ , but you were also part of the _military?”_

I nod my head.

“Fuck, sweetheart, no wonder you have a body like _this,_ and you’re smart as shit!” he says, smiling wildly, and wiggles his brows playfully. Although I laugh and smile in return, that quickly fades away as I blink and look back at him with wide eyes.

“You mean...that? That I...right now, like this?” I furrow my brow. Because I can’t help but ask, knowing exactly what my body looks like—knowing exactly how...how there's barely any muscle, let alone meat, to me. 

Negan presses his lips together and dips his head down, to where his forehead is pressing into my shoulder. He lifts his head back up and nods slowly as a small smile appears. “Calla, I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t blow smoke up _anyone’s_ fucking ass—I’m a fucking _man_ who tells it as it is.”

I stay quiet, not all-too-sure on how to reply back.

“And considering the crap place you’ve been at for who fucking knows how long, I bet you were much more filled out and muscular before this.”

“Eight months.”

Negan blinks his eyes.

“Eight months—that’s how long I was there.”

My eyes leave his and I look down at my lap.

“Well, at least something like that—you know, you start to lose track of time a while after walkers fucking took over,” I mumble under my breath, and I let out a shaky chuckle. My lips press together to form a firm line as I stare down absentmindedly.

_I still have proof in form of scars._

*********************************************************************************

**March 2012** **—** **_One Month Post-Outbreak_ **

Just a month ago this...this _thing_ —whatever the hell is causing people to not actually _die_ —started. It started spreading across the states—started spreading across the nation—and the it started spreading past nation lines.

Until eventually, the entire map was bright red—until, eventually, _nearly the entire globe was infected._

I’ve been stationed out here in Mobile, Alabama at this point for the past year. So when things went to complete shit with this _virus,_ if you want to call it that, a few weeks ago all of us here at the Navy base in Mobile were instructed to turn it into a safe zone. And since then, ourselves at the Air Force base have been working together to keep each other and the civilians here safe, in order, and well-fed.

When the outbreak truly hit hard just this month, and we lost most of the communication with our higher ups, I started to think about _him_ more.

_Him._

Him—as in my fiancee, Thomas Quince, who has been stationed out in Seoul, South Korea for the five months. He had proposed to me the day before he was shipped off to the Seoul base, after we had been together for the last four years.

I haven’t heard from him at all—I hadn’t heard from him since news reports of isolated cases started appearing two months ago. And just like we lost communication with our higher ups, we’ve lost communication with the rest of the world.

I’ve been counting how many days it’s been since we last spoke. _Seventy-seven days. It’s been seventy-seven days since I last heard from him._

But I remind myself, as I usually do, to stop thinking about him—to go back to keeping watch at the guard post I’m in right now, gun in hand, because I have to take care of these civilians.

_How much longer? How much longer?_

*********************************************************************************

_Those healing wounds heal twice as hard._

My head snaps up when I feel Negan gently jostle me in his arms, and I blink my eyes as I come back.

“C’mon, I have food waiting for you. You need to eat up,” he says lowly.

I nod my head, climb out of his lap, then stand up. He gets out of the chair and sets his glasses down on the desk. He walks to the kitchen and I follow from behind. When we get there I notice two trays sitting on the counter, both completely filled with plates of food, and I lick my lips. I stop at the kitchen entrance as Negan walks over and grabs some of the plates off one tray and places them in the microwave. When I run my tongue over my lips again and try to swallow afterward, I notice how much my throat aches—how dry my mouth feels. After he places the food in the microwave and starts it up, he turns to face me, and I take this opportunity to speak up.

“Can I—well, um... _may I_ have a glass of water, please?’ I ask.

Negan cracks a smile at me and then turns to the cabinets. As he takes a glass out from one of the cabinets he says, “You know, you don’t have to be so hesitant with asking me for things, Calla. I told you don’t be afraid.” He starts to fill up the glass with water from the sink. Afterwards he turns around and walks to me, stopping directly in front of me as he hands the glass.

I take it from him and bring it to my lips, starting to drink it slowly. But as the lukewarm water coats my lips, mouth, and throat—as it brings moisture to every bit of me it touches—I start to practically inhale the water. And the entire time I do, Negan’s head remains tilted down as he watches me. I practically chug the entire glass till I bring my head all the way back and the glass is upside down, trying to drink whatever tiny droplets of water are left. Finally I bring my head back down and take the glass away from my lips, then suck in a breath. I lick my lips and notice that they’re not as dry anymore.

“Sorry, I just feel...guilty, you know? You’ve done so much for me...so much that no one would ever do in this world we live in now…”

My brow creases as I look to the empty glass and then I look back up at him. “May I have some more water, please?” I ask, a smile surfacing on my face.

Negan laughs, nodding his head as he takes the glass away from me. “Yeah,” he replies as he turns away. And as he walks back to the sink he says, “That was _much_ better this time, by the way—keep working on it.”

I laugh as I watch him fill up the glass. “Will do,” I reply.

After he finishes and turns off the faucet, when he turns back around to walk back to me, this time I decide to walk to him. Negan only grins when he notices this, watching as I make my way to him this time around. “I figured this time I could be the one to walk,” I say playfully, smiling as I take the glass from him.

Just as Negan laughs at my words, the microwave goes off. He turns and takes the food out, then places it back on the tray it was from. “Go sit down,” he says, motioning towards the small rectangular table on the other side of the kitchen that has four chairs around it. I do as he says, and as I walk over to take a seat I can hear him opening a drawer and taking silverware out. When I settle down in a seat I turn my head up just in time to see him walking towards me, tray of food in his hands, with a smile when he sees me look over to him. As Negan sits down in the chair across from me, he sets the tray of food down in the middle of the table. “Take whatever you like—have as much as you want,” he tells me.

“What about you?” I ask, wrinkling my forehead.

“Don’t worry about me, doll—there’s plenty here to feed four people,” Negan replies, and he turns his head back, motioning towards the other food of tray sitting on the counter by tilting his head up a bit.

I glance to where he’s referring to, taking note of all the plates on that tray as well. I nod my head when Negan turns his head back and looks at me again, then I glance down at the tray in between us. There’s three plates of food—a sandwich cut in half to the left, a peach cobbler to the right, and pasta with meat sauce in the center. I lick my lips as I stare at the food, and when I do my stomach suddenly erupts into a loud growl—one so powerful that I can feel the muscles of my stomach tighten—one so loud I know for a fact that Negan heard it too.

And my suspicion that he did hear it is confirmed when he suddenly bursts into laughter, throwing his head back as he wraps his arms around his torso. My entire face feels like it’s on fire as I watch him laugh, and I press my lips together to try and keep from smiling. But his loud laugh, in combination with the timing of my stomach deciding to finally make a noise (on top of how loud it was), only makes me throw my head back in laughter as I clutch onto myself.

When our mixed laughter starts to die down, I shake my head as I let go of myself. I grab two, small empty plates from the stack already placed at the table and put them in front of me, and I grab a fork and knife afterward. I then put one half of the sandwich on a plate, then grab the plate of spaghetti and use my fork to pile some of it onto the other plate. As I do this, Negan reaches forward and grabs two plates from the stack, as well as a fork and knife, and places them in front of himself. I scoot forward a bit in my chair and place my fork down on the plate of spaghetti, deciding to start with the sandwich first.

* * *

After she serves herself, I take the other half of the sandwich and place it on one of my plates, then put some of the spaghetti on another plate. I make sure to leave just enough pasta in case she decides she wants to go for round two of it—and considering the physical state she’s in, as well as the confirmation that her stomach growling gave me, I have a feeling that she will be going in for seconds.

I grab my fork and start to twirl some of the pasta around it slowly, and as I do so I glance up to look at Calla who sits across from me. I look up just in time to see her grasping her half of the sandwich with both hands, holding it above the plate with her elbows resting on the table as she leans in and takes a large bite of it. I look back down to the spaghetti I’ve managed to gather around my fork and bring that into my mouth, and as I chew I look back to her. Calla’s eyes are shut, and she’s chewing faster than I’ve ever seen someone do in my entire life. She quickly swallows, and then her eyes open as she takes another large bite from her sandwich—at this point, because of how much she’s taking in every time she chomps down on that thing, her half of the sandwich is nearly _gone._

As I take chew on another mouthful of pasta, I look back over to her. I notice that her eyes are closed yet again as she chews on her food, appearing as if she’s relishing in the taste of the food—in the taste and texture of the lettuce, tomato slices, mayonnaise, mustard, and meat that makes up the sandwich. My brow creases as I watch her swallow loudly, only for her to take another large bite again. At the rate that she’s chewing (and she’s barely chewing as is), along with the sizes of the bites that she’s taking and her quick swallowing, she’s practically inhaling the food.

By the time I’ve eaten half my share of the pasta, Calla is already starting to eat her share. And I can’t help but watch as she nearly shovels the spaghetti in her mouth, eating like a dog that’s afraid that any second I’m going to snatch the plate away from her and forbid her to eat anymore food. It’s as I do watch her, taking a break from eating my food to lean back in my chair and observe her, that I realize just what kind of conditions they must have had them all living under…

I decide to finally look away, choosing to concentrate on eating my food once more. It’s once I take my last bite of the spaghetti, chewing away at it, that I hear Calla let out a loud sigh. I glance up when I do and see her leaning back all the way in her chair, placing two hands on her small belly while frowning. I swallow my food as she decides to speak up in this moment.

“I thought I’d be able to eat more…”

I glance down at what use to be her plate of pasta, finding it completely empty just as her plate with her half of the sandwich is. I then look back up to her.

“But I’m so full I’m not sure if I can even walk…” Calla sighs again. She licks her lips and then looks down at her plate for a moment before finally looking up at me. “Why can’t I eat more than just _that?”_

I sigh and place my fork down on my plate. I fold my arms, lean forward, and place those on the table. “How much were they feeding you everyday, Calla?” I ask.

Her brows knit together, and her gaze stays on her just barely swollen, small stomach. But then she looks up at me, and her chocolate brown eyes are sparkling with sorrow.

“Once a day.”

I let out a sigh.

“Cris’s so-called _favorites_ would be rewarded with MRE’s leftover from when The Haven was originally a military base that we rationed. But for everyone else...it was always whatever canned food that hadn’t expired yet—sometimes there’d be so little to eat that we would have to eat expired canned food. Other times, we’d eat Top Ramen or anything else that was like that…We’d usually eat at lunch, so that way when we go to bed at night our stomachs wouldn’t be growling so much that we couldn’t sleep, even though we’d wake up in the morning in pain from how hungry we are.”

I run a hand over my beard, closing my eyes after she finishes speaking. I can’t imagine—no, I actually _can._ I can because I’m able to picture it right now—the sight of all those people that my men killed being alive, poking and prodding at the cold, liquid food in a can that was just opened, while a few men laugh boisterously as they enjoy their hot MRE’s.

I open my eyes when Calla continues for a bit more.

“I tried to get a garden started in the areas around the military base that were still confined by the fence. But I guess the land there wasn’t all that good for growing on, because everything I planted never grew no matter how hard I tried. I just wanted…” She pauses for a moment, eyes flickering away from me and to what food remains in between us. “I just wanted to be able to give everyone something more _substantial._ But I couldn’t even do that…”

Then she looks back up at me—her eyes meet mine once again, and all I can think is I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do—what to say even. Yeah, most of us who are still alive have had at least one night where we had go to go bed hungry because they was nothing or hardly anything left to eat.

But to spend nearly every day, for _eight months_ like that…

“You wanted to know why you thought you could eat more than you just did but couldn’t, right?” I ask.

Calla nods her head.

“Well, that’s your answer right there—because of how much that _prick_ had you all barely eating for _eight fucking months._ So your stomach got smaller, and adjusted to eating way less than usual.” I sigh and then start to shake my head. I know I have people of my own here in The Sanctuary who sometimes don’t have enough points to get food, so they steal—but that’s one thing compared to having your entire population starving…

“That mother fucker, _fucking fuck!_ ” I curse as I stand up, roughly pushing in my chair. I clench my jaw as I gather and stack up our dirty plates in my hands. Calla quickly rises to her feet, scrambling over to me as I walk to the sink and put the dishes there.

“Negan—let me—” She’s behind me, trying to get to the sink around me.

 _“No,”_ I respond firmly. I turn to face her, and place both hands on her upper arms. “I have a worker who takes care of that for me. And either way, I don’t want you doing _shit_ until you’re healthy again—especially after all the fucking awful crap you’ve been through, got it?”

I see her reaction change in front of me—her doe eyes that look like they’re filled with fear growing smaller as she clenches her jaw, only to look away from me after I finish speaking. But I keep my eyes on her despite the fact that she refuses to look at me—I keep them on her until she realizes that for this moment to end, she’s going to have to look at me again and give me an answer— _any_ answer.

So Calla does look back at me, but this time her eyes are warm and bright, filled with anger, and her lips that form a firm line only makes that impossibly more obvious.

“Thank you for feeding me, and treating me extremely well and all, Negan, but I didn’t _survive_ one dictator only to come to another place and be scolded like I’m a _child_ ,” she snaps.

I can feel my nostrils flare as I look down at her, and both of us refuse to look away from the other. I chew on the inside of my cheek as I feel myself starting to become angry at her for what she just said.

But I don’t go off on her—I don’t squeeze her tighter—I don’t bark anything at her.

I don’t react like how I usually would if someone snapped at me the way she just did, which would be to put them in their place.

I don’t, because where she’s coming from hits me—the fact that I’m not letting her do a single fucking thing on her own, even something as small as helping me put goddamn _plates in the fucking sink—_ isn’t as bad as what that Cris fucker put her through, but it might as well be.

Maybe I also don’t because I know she’s testing me—because she’s pushing and and trying to figure out what exactly the boundaries between her and I are.

Maybe I don’t because I like the challenge—because maybe I enjoy the unique way she challenges my authority without necessarily overstepping.

Maybe I don’t because... _because it’s_ **_her._ **

I sigh and let go of her arms, and my eyes finally leave hers as I turn around and walk back to the table. I grab the tray that has whatever food left on it. And when I walk back to the kitchen counter, instead of placing it on there I place the tray in Calla’s hands instead.

“Would you be a doll and put that away for me, darlin’?” I ask, flashing her a smile.

Calla furrows her brow as she looks at me curiously, until she begins to smile in return. “Yeah...I’ll take care of it…” she replies as she places the tray beside the other tray still full of food.

I only shake my head as I watch her, chuckling lightly to myself. “Better?”

She only leans back against the kitchen counter and cabinets, and folds her arms over her stomach. _“Much_ better.”

I tilt my chin up a bit towards her. “Good,” I reply. “Now why don’t we get dressed so I can show you around the place—give you that grand fucking tour I promised I’d give you today?”

Calla’s arms come down to her side, and she uses her hands to slowly push herself off the cabinets as she takes a step forward. “Yeah, that sounds good to me...but my clothes—I left them all in my bedroom last night…”

“I had one of my men bring some clothes and necessities for you, so don’t worry about that.”

She nods her head and flashes me a small smile, and takes another step in my direction. “Thank you, Negan.”

I can’t help but smile as I walk forward and quickly close the distance between us. I wrap my arm around her waist as we both turn, our sides pressed together, and begin to walk towards my bedroom. “No fucking problem, sweetheart.”

* * *

After we step out of his place, Negan’s guards follow us from behind as we walk through The Sanctuary side-by-side. He slicked his hair back, just as it was when I met him last night, and is wearing brown pants tucked into black boots. However, unlike last night he isn’t wearing a red scarf, and his black leather jacket is unzipped which exposes the white t-shirt he has on underneath. One hand is in his pocket, while his other has his barbed wire baseball bat slung over his shoulder. Meanwhile, I’m wearing dark gray v-neck shirt that hugs my figure; a blue plaid button-up that I left open; tight and dark denim pants; with the black boots I brought with me from The Haven on; and both my hands are in the back pockets of my pants with my thumbs hanging out.

Negan and I walk through each level of the building, and he tells me what each area is for and what goes on there each time we do. Eventually we make it to the main floor that most people seem to be at, which is made up of different tables and lines at each one. Although it’s insanely loud, I can hear what sounds like the person running their table arguing with whoever is at the front of the line over the “price” of whatever item they want.

“Now here is where people can bring whatever they made or own, and trade it with someone else for a different item, or sell it for points,” Negan says loudly, leaning in closer to me so he can make sure that I hear him. I nod my head simply in reply as I can’t help but observe the chaotic scene around us.

“How many people live here?” I then ask, raising my voice a bit as I lean into him.

He only snickers at my question before leaning in and cupping a hand around my ear, loudly whispering his answer to me. “Sweetheart, this ain’t even a quarter of the people I have. Not everyone who lives under and works for me is in The Sanctuary.”

I quickly turn my head, looking at him with confused eyes, while Negan’s smile grows wider when he sees my face. He puts a hand on my back, pressing the tips of his fingers into me. “C’mon—we still got a bit more to see.”

We leave this floor of the building and we continue to walk through, him showing me the rest. We end up passing parts I was shown last night, such as where my room is which is in an area that many of his other people live at too, and how the place is connected starts to make a bit more sense to me.

Eventually, after showing me where their one doctor is and introducing me to Dr. Carson, Negan takes me outside. Despite the fact that it’s just the beginning of winter here, it’s still rather warm outside and the sun is completely out. I have to squint and put a hand over my eyes as my sight adjusts to the sudden brightness of the daylight.

“Look over here,” he tells me, the hand on my back moving to rest on my shoulder so his arm is wrapped loosely around me. Negan turns my body just a bit in the direction he wants me to look, and he uses his bat to point in the area he wants me to attention on. I do as he says and when I see walkers chained to parts of the fence and ground—when I see people dressed in baggy sweats with a different letter in bright red spray painted on each of them fighting off each walker but not killing them—my eyes widen in return.

“Keeps the hordes from fucking finding us,” Negan tells me as he places his bat back on his shoulder.

“But who are those people?” I innocently ask, tilting my head up to look at him.

He continues to look forward at the scene, eyes narrowed a bit. “Prisoners of war, basically. People we had to take to teach groups a fucking lesson who tried to fuck us over.”

Negan turns his head down to look at me, and I notice that his eyes appear to be a warm, hazelnut shade of brown from the sunlight that beams down on us, even though his gaze is hard and firm.

“You know how it is now—how it’s had to be ever since.”

I do—I do know, just as he tells me. I do, because once upon a time I was once in his shoes. But all I can do is nod my head in reply.

_We are survivors of the wild._

* * *

_10 P.M._

We have dinner incredibly late, only because I didn’t feel hungry enough to eat until an hour ago. And after we finish eating, Negan and I leave his place and he walks me to where my room is. None of his guards follow us this time—it’s just him and I, walking the dark and silent halls of The Sanctuary beside one another. Both his hands are in his pockets, seeing as he left his bat back at his place, and my arms are wrapped around my torso.

Once we make it to my door, Negan presses his shoulder against the wall and leans against it as I dig into the right front pocket of my jeans and take the key to unlock the door out. I unlock the door and open it, stepping inside and turning on the lights as I do. Negan follows me inside, and shuts the door behind him once we’re both inside.

I set the key down on the small table in the center, sighing as I stretch my arms over my head and glance around at the small room even though it looks no different from last night.

“You sure you wanna spend the night alone?”

I raise my brows as I turn my head, my arms still above my head as I look to Negan. My arms slowly come down to my side as I nod my head.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

I have to be sure—I have to be. Because if I’m not—if I’m not, then I won’t be able to get through the night on my own. And the thing is...thing is I _need_ to be able to get some sleep by myself—I _have_ to be able to do this on my own.

And I can’t until I try—until I will myself to just _try._

Negan nods his head. “If you can’t sleep for whatever reason, find one of my men on patrol and tell them to bring you to me. Even if it’s four in the fucking morning, I’ll open my door and let you stay with me again, alright?”

“Okay,” I say as I nod my head.

I’m not sure if I should step forward and hug him goodbye—not sure if I should just walk to the door, open it, and let him out. But my question is answered when Negan walks over to the door, and I follow suit. I open it for him, and he stands in my doorway facing me.  
“Get some sleep, alright?”

“You, too,” I smile. “Good night.”

He gives me a quick, close-lipped smile before turning around and leaving. I shut the door behind him and immediately lock it. I turn around and walk to my set of drawers and take out a set of pajamas to change into, and I start to get ready for bed.

I can’t will myself to turn off the light before crawling into bed—I feel like a goddamn child who is ridiculously afraid of the dark. But I know I need to do this for myself—I know I need to _try_ to make it through the night, on my own, _for myself._ I have to.

_I have to._

I curl up underneath the sheets and lay on my side, facing the wall that my bed is pressed against. I close my eyes and let my breathing and heartbeat slow down naturally.

I’ve done this before—I’ve had to make the nightmares stop and be able to get through the night with sleep on my own before.

_I’ve had to do this before, and I was able to do it._

But when I do close my eyes, and as I start to drift off to sleep, the images of last night come flooding back to me— _all that blood—all those bodies on the floor, a hole dug through in each head by a bullet or knife._

My eyes snap open and I look at the white wall in front of me colored yellow by the ceiling lights. I force myself to stare at this wall until my eyelids feel too heavy keep open.

* * *

_2 A.M._

_Embers falling from the sky—black smoke filling up my lungs, making me heave and cough endlessly as I run through the thick forest in the dead of night—as I run from the very people who have been threatening our existence for the last few months._

_Shrieking and high-pitched screams make up the noise from the very place I’m running away from—from the place I worked so hard to build up and protect—to lead and create—burns down, and the very people I wanted to keep safe are being brutally murdered as it all becomes nothing but ash._

_Slimy hands grab at my arm from out of nowhere, and I grunt as I unsheathe my knife and stab in the brain the walker that had just latched onto me. I stumble a bit as it’s limp body falls to the ground, but I continue to run forward._

_I continue to run through this forest until—until I’m...running down a hallway? I furrow my brow as I run down what has now become a vacant hallway and make a right turn. But when I do, there’s red—there’s suddenly bright red spots and splatters on the walls, and the further I go down this hallway the darker those spots become—the more red that starts to cover the floor and walls. I make another right turn when I reach the end of this hallway, but I stop dead in my tracks._

_I’m forced to stop when I see nothing but fresh corpses lying on the floor, so many of them that I can’t even see the floor, and all the walls are bright red. My wide eyes travel through the hall as my heart races, until I see a person standing on the other side staring back at me._

_He’s holding a knife in his hand._

_And when my eyes meet his, and I find his face covered in blood, his lips pull back into a pearly white smile._

_Cris._

I jolt up in my bed, and as I quickly sit up my hands search frantically for a knife—for fucking _anything_ that I can turn into a weapon—until I suck in a deep breath and realize where I am, and what my current state of reality is.

My eyes blink as I’m become aware of what’s truly going on—as I realize that I’ve just woken from a nightmare. I scramble to where I sit in the corner of my bed where the walls meet and pull my legs up to my chest, and stare at the sheets with wide eyes. I tuck my tight, wild curls behind my ears as I look down at my crumpled sheets with blank eyes and an equally blank mind.

_Wild, wild, wild, wild, wild._

My chest quickly rises and falls, and my heart grows faster and faster until I’m gasping for breath—until my vision becomes blurry and hot tears leave my eyes and fall immediately to the very sheets I can’t look away from. My throat is so tight I can’t swallow—as if peanut butter is coating its walls and I _just can’t fucking_ **_breathe._ **

_I need to do this for myself. I_ **_have_ ** _to do this for myself._

_I have to. I need to._

I jump out of bed as fast as possible, and I wipe my moist eyes with the sleeve of my pajama top. I go to the top drawer of my dresser and pull out a pair of socks that I quickly slip on. I head over to the front door where my running shoes are and slip those on, then take my black leather jacket off the hook that’s next to the door and slip that on. I hurriedly grab the key off the table and open the door, stepping out, and then lock the door after I close it. I shove the key into the pocket of my jacket, and I walk down the hall as I wipe away my tears again with my sleeve.

I don’t fucking care how ridiculous I probably look in the pink, plaid and long sleeve pajama top and matching pants I have on with my jacket on top, walking down this hallway as fast as I can in my running shoes.

_What are you doing? What are you doing? You have to do this for yourself—you’ve done it before, why can’t you do it now, Calla?_

I walk and turn down each hallway without thought, until I finally see one of the guards on patrol walking ahead of me. I start to jog over to him, desperately wanting to catch up to him before he turns down the next hallway and disappears from my sight.

 _Why can’t you do it by yourself, on your own, like you have before? Why is it this time_ _you can’t make it through the night on your own, Calla?_ ** _Why now?_**

“Wait!” I say as I get closer to him, and the man stops walking, turns around, and faces me. I stop once I get to him, and I can only imagine how I look to him considering he looks concerned yet entirely confused.

“Take me to Negan, please,” I say through my heavy breathing, as I try and catch my breath.

The man furrows his brow and then bursts out laughing. _“Negan?!_ Who the fuck do you think you are?! You trying to get _both_ of our fucking faces burned off?”

I blink my eyes as he laughs in my face at my request—as he blatantly laughs _at me._ And what I do next is nothing like me—it’s nothing like who I use to be, and the woman I know that I am.

But maybe I’m not who I thought I was anymore.

I clench my jaw as I take his shoulders with both of my hands, squeezing him so hard that my sharp and long nails dig into his skin, making him cry out in pain. I stomp my foot on his, digging it so hard into the ground that he cries out even louder because he can feel his toes starting to crush even though he has boots on. “You are going to fucking _TAKE ME_ to _NEGAN,_ or I’ll make sure to fucking break both of your feet right now, got it?!” I snarl, my face just centimeters away from his.

“O-Okay! Okay!” The man howls, shaking underneath my grasp with tears welling up in his eyes. “Just stop—please, I’ll take you right now!”

I lift my foot off his and loosen the grip on his arms so my nails are no longer in his skin. He sighs out of relief, eyes closed momentarily. Even though I completely let go of one of his arms, I squeeze the one I’m still holding onto hard enough so my nails are in his skin again, making him cry out.

 _“Now,”_ I remind him, and he quickly nods his head. I loosen my grip on his arm when he starts to move forward, and as he leads me through the hallways to Negan’s room I keep my hand on his arm just in case.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me—what’s going on with me. Because this isn’t like me—what I just did and am doing to this man—the fact that I can’t even sleep on my own and can’t make it through a series of nightmares by myself…

This isn’t who I am. This isn’t who I was.

_Who am I now?_

Once we get to his place, the two guards stationed outside his door do nothing but watch as the guard I’m holding onto knocks on Negan’s door a few times. He trembles as he stands there, waiting for Negan to open the door, but I dig my nails back into his arm when I don’t hear footsteps. “You didn’t knock loud enough,” I say lowly in his ear.

The man knocks again, much louder this time, and I loosen my grip on his arm in return. I hear heavy footsteps soon after, along with a heavy groan once he reaches the door. “It better be fucking worth it,” Negan grumbles on the other side of the door as he unlocks it.

The door swings open. A dimmed light is on behind him, and he’s standing in front of us wearing a black t-shirt and navy, plaid boxers.

And I’m standing in his doorway, my eyes still filled with tears like they have been since I woke up, my hand gripping onto the arm of the guard I’ve pretty much made my hostage.

Our eyes meet.

_You built me from a broken heart—_

His widen as he looks down at me, and immediately he reaches out and puts a hand on my back.

_“Calla—”_

He says my name so softly—it slips off his tongue as he gently pushes me forward into his place.

_—With bricks you made from broken parts._

My hand on the guard’s arm instantly falls off once Negan brings me inside, and he immediately shuts and locks the door.

_You fixed the pain so we could start—_

His arms circle around me and he pulls me into his chest, holding onto me as tight as possible. His chin rests on top of my curly hair. The side of my face presses to his chest and I close my eyes, while my small hands squeeze his shirt. I start to tremble and shake in his embrace, just as I was when I curled up in my bed earlier and then proceeded to leave my room in a mad frenzy.

_—So now what’s mine is ours._

_“Shhh...Shh, Ssshhhhh…”_ His lips are pursed and at my ear as a hand repeatedly smooths my hair. I feel his lips press to my cheek, and then my forehead. I didn’t even realize until he started making that sound to calm me down, just as he did the night before, that I had started to audibly cry out loud. I try and choke back my tears—try to quiet myself down just as he tries to as well. But I only end up silently sobbing in his arms, my entire body shaking in his grasp, as what feels like an endless stream of tears rushes down my cheeks and drips off my chin.

The hand on the back of my head leaves, and he takes my left hand off his chest and out from in between us so he can squeeze and hold onto it.

“Calla…! What the _hell?!”_ Negan curses, not upset but clearly in shock. I open my eyes and look up, seeing his large hand holding my small one that has fresh blood covering all of my nails and fingertips.

_I know you’re twisted; but baby, I’m twisted, too._

“H-He wouldn’t let me come. He—” I clench my jaw angrily, “He laughed in my face when I asked him to bring me to you—I _had_ to, Negan.”

Negan lets go of me, and my eyes widen—is he going to…? Is he going to tell me to leave—kick me out of The Sanctuary, even?

He grabs my other hand off his chest and looks at both that are in his palms. My eyes gaze up at his, my slightly blurred vision from my tears slowly becoming clear again. I watch as his brow creases and he looks at the blood on my hands—as he looks at what I did— _what I_ **_had to do._ **

_My sweet devoted counterpart._

The corners of his mouth pull back into a left-slanted, white smile. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a spark in them as he laces our fingers together. “Look at you, Calla! You’re a fucking _survivor!”_ Negan raises his voice, saying this rather proudly.

_We catch each other’s shooting stars—_

He lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around me again, and my body is pressed against his just as it was earlier. I wrap my arms around his broad torso, and close my eyes as I press my ear to his chest and listen to his rapid heartbeat.

_—However close, however far—_

His lips press to my forehead, and then I feel them leave a kiss on my cheek. His long fingers push back my hair and he leans into me. The hand on my mid-back presses deeper into me, making me arch my back and my body press tighter against his.

_—Whatever’s mine is ours._

_“Let’s go to sleep, Calla,”_ Negan whispers softly into my ear.

I barely nod my head. _“Okay.”_

_We are survivors of the wild._


End file.
